


Dreaming Through the Noise

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[An AU of Storybrooke.  There is no curse, no fairytales, just regular people in a regular town.]  Mary Margaret Blanchard had never been one of the popular girls. She was pretty enough, always had been, but in a subdued way. She didn't turn heads when she walked in the room; she was lovely but not sexy or alluring like other girls. Growing up, she'd been more comfortable sitting on the sidelines while her peers took the spotlight, got the guys, got their happily-ever-afters. Instead, she read about adventure, dreamed about love, and told herself over and over that tomorrow would be the day her story began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an anon prompt on Tumblr: AU. David asking Mary Margaret out on a date after running into her several times. It doesn't have to be love at first sight. They are not Prince Charming and Snow White, just regular people.

 

 

> “ _It’s so beautiful here,” she says,_  
>            “ _This moment now,  
>                           and this moment now.”_
> 
> _And I never thought I would find her here:_  
>           flannel and satin,  
>                         my four walls transformed.
> 
> _..._
> 
> _And she dreams through the noise,_  
>              her weight against me,  
>                          face pressed into the corduroy grooves.
> 
> _..._
> 
> _And the words, they’re everything and nothing,  
>             I want to search for her in the offhand remarks._
> 
> _~from ‘Recessional’ by Vienna Teng_   
> 

 

**Chapter One**

 

Mary Margaret Blanchard had never been one of the popular girls. She was pretty enough, always had been, but in a subdued way. She didn't turn heads when she walked in the room; she was lovely but not sexy or alluring like other girls. Growing up, she'd been more comfortable sitting on the sidelines while her peers took the spotlight, got the guys, got their happily-ever-afters. Instead, she read about adventure, dreamed about love, and told herself over and over that tomorrow would be the day her story began.

 

But a hundred, then a thousand tomorrows passed, and she was no closer to being the hero of her own story. She was a schoolteacher in the same town she was raised in, a volunteer at the local hospital, and still hopelessly single.

 

That's the problem with small towns, she thought absently as she retreated from the scene of her latest disastrous date. Once you pass a certain age, you'll have exhausted your acceptable dating pool with no hope of it ever expanding. The majority will find happiness, but the unlucky few – like me – will be doomed to spend eternity alone.

 

She reminded herself, though, that she was fortunate enough to have gotten the date at all. Dr. Whale was one of the rare newcomers to Storybrooke, fresh out of residency and with a record poor enough to send him into the desperate arms of Storybrooke General. Regardless, he was good-looking and seemed kind enough when he'd asked her to join him at Granny's once their evening shifts were through. They had a surprising amount in common (not much, but more than she'd expected), both graduating from UMaine barely two years apart. But after some time reminiscing over shared professors and campus hijinks, the date had turned particularly sour. She should have expected as much – after all, he was the sort of man who insisted on being called by his last name, instantly reminding her of the jocks in high school that bullied everyone else.

 

No, he wasn't for her. Just as well, she had papers to grade before Monday and lesson plans to attend to. Spending the rest of her Friday night home alone was for the best.

 

Winter was pressing in on Storybrooke, and she tugged her sweater over her fingers to keep warm for the walk home. Half a block down Main Street, she was surprised to find her newest friend (acquaintance, really, but she was hopeful), leaning against the hood of her car and parsing through the classifieds of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror.

 

Like Mary Margaret's date, Emma Swan was a new face in Storybrooke. The biological mother of one of Mary Margaret's students, she'd landed herself in the small town after the child she'd given up turned up on her doorstep in Boston. While she had no say in the matter (they’d only ever spoken a handful of times), Mary Margaret hoped the other woman would choose to stay, for the sake of her child.

 

“Hey,” she said, coming to lean up against the car next to her friend. “You’re still here.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma replied uncertainly, setting aside her paper. She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing when she rolled into town, looking haggard and stuck somewhere between today and tomorrow.

 

“So it’s official, then?” Mary Margaret clarified. “You’re staying.”

 

“If I can find a place,” said Emma. “I can only afford a room at Granny’s for so long without a job. But this town has no vacancies. None that I can afford anyways. No real openings either.” She sighed, then did a once-over of Mary Margaret’s ensemble - not exactly couture, but certainly a step up from schoolteacher chic. “So who was the lucky guy?”

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “Not getting lucky anytime soon. He spent half the date staring at the waitress’s butt.”

 

“Ouch,” Emma winced, and they fell into a mildly uncomfortable silence.

 

“You know, I’ve got a spare room,” Mary Margaret offered carefully, knowing full well that this was pushing all sorts of boundaries. If there was one thing she’d learned about Emma in the short time they’d spent together, it was that she had a series of walls guarding her heart.

 

And, as expected, those walls came closing up around her. “Oh, no,” said Emma, pulling a face. “I’m not really the roommate type. I’ll find something, eventually. I can’t even pay you until-”

 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just collecting dust anyways,” said Mary Margaret. “Come on, at least until you find something.” She bit her lip, hopefully, waiting as Emma considered. Truthfully, she’d been lonely for a long while, and maybe a friend would serve to fill the emptiness in her heart. “Maybe borrow some clothes?”

 

Emma seemed torn, caught speechless for a moment before venturing, “Mary Margaret-”

 

Mary Margaret cut her off, waving a hand between them. “Just … think about it, okay?” She offered the other woman a warm smile, and continued on her way home.

 

Emma was staying. That was something at least. They weren’t really even friends, but she’d felt an instant connection to her. Henry, Emma’s son, was one of her favorite students. She hated to admit that she held some children closer to her heart than others, but Henry was special. Between conferences and his file, she’d learned that he’d been in therapy since he was seven - three whole years now. At the beginning of the school year, he’d been reluctant to participate; he was lonely and withdrawn. At some point, though, they’d connected. He was still indifferent to his classmates, but he would often volunteer to help her clean the classroom during recess, or pass back assignments. It was progress. Now, she saw not only the same emotional detachment in Emma, but also the same dim light behind the same barriers. Given time, they would be good for one another.

 

She’d made it three blocks when a familiar yellow bug pulled up alongside her. The driver’s side window rolled down, and Emma peeked out nervously. “I was thinking,” she said, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Maybe just for tonight, could I … ?”

 

Mary Margaret smiled, bending over to be at Emma’s level. “That depends. Will you give me a ride home?”

 

\--

 

So Emma stayed. Not just for one night, or the weekend, but indefinitely. At first, Mary Margaret had been certain this would be a temporary arrangement, but as the days turned into a week, and when a shipment of boxes found their way to her doorstep, she accepted that she’d found a permanent roommate. Emma was easy enough to live with, always careful of boundaries and privacy (a wonderful quality in an apartment lacking walls), and the extra presence in the drafty loft seemed to fill some long-forgotten hole in Mary Margaret’s life.

 

It had been many years since Mary Margaret had had a best friend. There’d been a time - at the end of high school when everyone swore they would keep in touch, knowing they never would - that she’d convinced herself that the concept of a ‘best friend’ was a youthful fantasy, manufactured by makers of children’s jewelry and sitcom writers; a beautiful lie told to children who needed to learn to share and play well with others. But the silent companionship of splitting a bottle of wine over TVLand reruns renewed her faith in the idea. Though Emma was still a new applicant, Mary Margaret hoped that eventually she would accept the job.

 

Their second weekend together came and went, and Monday rolled around again with the same misery as ever. Emma had been lucky enough to be taken on as the town’s new deputy. While she swore it was her experience as a bail bondsman that had landed her the job, Mary Margaret saw the way the sheriff looked at his new deputy and thought perhaps it was less about experience and more about ‘office camaraderie’. (She chose not to tell Emma this, not wanting to pry so early on in their budding friendship.) But for Mary Margaret, Monday meant another day at school, and while she loved each of her students and they loved her, neither party cared much for one the other’s presence so early after the weekend.

 

Her students filtered in, tired and bleary-eyed, while she passed back their freshly graded workbooks. She’d just made it down the first row when Henry slunk in - followed by his mother. Not Emma-his-mother, but the mayor-of-Storybrooke-his-mother.

 

Mary Margaret stood up straight, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, and put on the most indifferent professionalism she could muster. “Mayor Mills. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

The mayor - Regina Mills - eyed her calmly, a hand firmly secured on her son’s shoulder. “Miss Blanchard,” she nodded. “Rumor has it that you’ve found yourself a roommate.”

 

Mary Margaret frowned, twisting her ring around her finger. “Well yes, but, with all due respect, I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

 

Regina smiled that not-so-sincere smile Mary Margaret knew too well. “Anything that concerns my son is most certainly my business.”

 

Henry looked up at Mary Margaret, at once both apologetic and aching to be free from this conversation.

 

“Henry,” she said, shooting a pointed look to the boy’s mother. “Why don’t you finish passing back the workbooks for me? Please?”

 

Relieved, Henry accepted the stack of books from her and set off to hand them out.

 

Regina lowered her voice as she continued. “I hardly think it’s appropriate for Henry’s teacher to be living with _that woman_.”

 

“We’re hardly even friends,” Mary Margaret assured her, suddenly wishing she was more like Emma. Emma would never have backed down from Regina, and certainly not on her own turf.

 

Regina’s voice softened, sounding more like the person Mary Margaret had known long ago. “I can’t say I approve,” she said. “Just … don’t let this affect my son’s education. The only reason I let him stay in your class is because your students always score the best. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I trust you to be professional in this matter? ”

 

The change of tone startled Mary Margaret. She could count on one hand the number of times the mayor had referred to their past friendship since she’d returned to Storybrooke. “Don’t worry, Miss Mills, my first priority is Henry.”  
  
“Good. At least we agree on that much. What’s best for Henry.”

 

Mary Margaret nodded, and was relieved to hear the bell ring. “I should-”

 

“Yes,” Regina agreed, “you should.”

 

\--

 

“You’ll never guess what happened at work today,” said Mary Margaret as she handed Emma her dinner. She took a seat across the table from her.

 

Emma accepted the meal with a grateful smile. “Shouldn’t that be my line? I mean, I’m the one with the exciting job. Or is this town so boring that the local elementary school gets more action than the police department.”

 

Mary Margaret chuckled lightly, but continued without any other acknowledgement to the interruption. “I saw Regina.”

 

Emma’s eyes widened. “What? I thought she was too busy for that PTA stuff.”

 

“She took Henry to school. Made a big fuss over you living here.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes, then shoveled a forkful of macaroni into her mouth. “You know, I get that this was a closed adoption,” she said between bites, “but Henry seems -”

 

Mary Margaret interrupted her. “You’re right. He’s been a lot happier since you came here.” She paused a moment to take a bite, considering her words. “But remember that Regina’s still his mother.”

 

Emma looked hurt. “I’m his mother, too.”

 

“Yes,” Mary Margaret replied carefully. “You are. But she’s been his mother longer.”

 

Emma frowned and set down her fork, tilting her head to the side as she studied the woman opposite her. “Why are you defending her? From what I’ve seen, she treats you like dirt.”

 

She had a point. Mary Margaret had spent the past twelve years quietly accepting Regina’s scorn. Unlike the rest of the town - so small that no-one was spared the never-ending shame of the local gossip mills - Emma was unaware of the history there. Regina was a strict mayor, but for the most part, she was helpful and down-right pleasant. Mary Margaret and Emma were the exceptions, the black sheep of the town in that respect. In Emma’s eyes, it would be pretty obvious why Regina would dislike her, but not Mary Margaret.

 

“We were friends once,” Mary Margaret admitted, slowly picking at her dinner. “A long time ago.”

 

“Friends?” Emma gave her a skeptical glance.

 

“Yeah,” said Mary Margaret. “My mother died when I was young. Breast cancer. I’m an only child, so when it came time to do those girly things-” She shrugged then, the fondness in the memories suddenly very uncomfortable. “You know, like bra shopping and first periods and stuff. When it came to those things, I didn’t really have anyone. Regina’s father worked with my dad, and she sort of became like ... like a sister to me, I guess.” She pushed her dinner away, half-eaten, suddenly not hungry at all. She gazed past Emma, off to somewhere in the distant past. “The big sister I never had.”

 

“So ... what happened?”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. Truthfully, this was the void she’d hoped Emma would fill, and yet it felt wrong to share this with her. It had been twelve years since she’d spoken of it; cried it into her father’s shoulder, tried to make sense of it on Dr. Hopper’s couch. Twelve years gone and buried in her father’s grave, locked away in Archie’s files.

 

“We drifted apart.” Vague, but true. She stood and cleared her plate. “Regina has lost a lot throughout her life,” she said quietly. “She’s just afraid she’ll lose her son, too.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

Weeks passed, and Mary Margaret’s routine began to grow around Emma’s - waiting until after her morning run to make breakfast, showering at night to free up the bathroom, dragging her to Granny’s for hot cocoa and dessert. At first, Emma had resisted, insisting that - roommates or not - she didn’t need anyone else pouring her cereal or directing some modest modicum of a social life. But gradually, brick by brick, Mary Margaret broke down that outer wall, and Emma began to accept her Froot Loops and toast with a shy smile in place of an argument.

 

They were becoming friends, and because of that, Mary Margaret couldn’t bring herself to say ‘no’ when Emma invited her on a morning jog. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to go, but rather that, to her embarrassment, she couldn’t run. She had never been an athletic child, and by the time middle school had rolled around, she spent PE class in the nurse’s office, grateful for a doctor’s note bearing an incorrect diagnosis of exercise-induced asthma from when she’d really had a bout of bronchitis. Physically, there was no reason she shouldn’t be able to run, but she had no form, and thanks to that wonderful doctor’s note she never learned.

 

But Emma had asked her, and so she went. She pulled on her loosest clothing and a pair of long-neglected athletic shoes, setting her iPod to the ‘80s bad-girl rock of her youth. (Emma didn’t say anything, but she was certain she looked like she was trying far too hard.)

 

They went slowly at first, to Mary Margaret’s relief, because after barely five minutes she was puffing out heavy, misty breaths into the late autumn air, while Emma was completely unaffected. Soon, she felt herself reaching her limit. “You’re good … at this,” Mary Margaret huffed, already struggling to keep up.

 

“Takes practice,” Emma replied, finally sounding just a little breathless. “Need a break?”

 

“Couple … more blocks,” Mary Margaret insisted, right before she stepped off the edge of the curb, her ankle twisting under her and (she swore) making a horrifying cracking sound as she crumpled to the ground.

 

“Mary Margaret!” Emma knelt down beside her an instant later, examining her for injury.

 

“I’m fine,” Mary Margaret insisted, despite the burning pain in her ankle. She’d fallen on a particularly rugged patch of asphalt, and now her only pair of track pants were sporting a series of gravelly holes, but she wasn’t bleeding. She wished her ankle had been so lucky. “But I don’t think running’s for me.”

 

Emma smiled apologetically. “You’re okay then?”

 

“Yeah,” said Mary Margaret, trying to maintain some amount of her dignity. Emma eyed her skeptically. Right, she claimed that she could tell when anyone was lying; her 'superpower' she called it. Mary Margaret accepted Emma’s proffered hand. “Just let me walk it off.” With a joint effort, they hauled her to her feet, only for her to crumple against Emma immediately.

 

“Yeah,” said Emma sarcastically. “You seem perfectly fine to me.” She sat on the edge of the curb with Mary Margaret, carefully prodding at her quickly swelling ankle. “Yeesh, you need to have this looked at.”

 

“Is it broken?” asked Mary Margaret. It certainly _felt_ broken, but she liked to think of herself as a glass-half-full kind of person.

 

“Can’t tell. Maybe.” Emma poked it one last time, earning a hiss of pain from Mary Margaret. “I’ll run back for the car. Will you be okay here?”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head, trying to push herself to stand. “The hospital’s just two blocks away,” she said, leaning on Emma when she began to lose her balance. “I can make it there.”

 

–

 

Mary Margaret was not a stranger to the Storybrooke General Emergency Department. While the responsibilities of a hospital volunteer were fairly limited, in such a small town doctors were in high demand, and she often found herself picking up the slack here on busier nights. Her medical qualifications didn’t extend past a CPR certification, but she helped keep patients and their families busy with games and toys, or simply a hand to hold in times of need. So when she and Emma hobbled through the ambulance bay doors on foot, two orderlies and the triage nurse dropped everything to come to her aid.

 

“Mary Margaret!” Clare, the triage nurse on duty, was an old friend. Years ago, they’d spent hours after shared shifts discussing books and films over tea. Now Clare had a family, but she was always up for an extra break on nights when Mary Margaret took a shift in the ER. “What happened?”

 

Mary Margaret settled carefully into a wheelchair, smiling gratefully at the orderly who brought it. “Oh, you know me,” she quipped, hissing as her bruised ankle bumped the wheelchair’s footrest. “Well, me and running.”

 

Clare winced. “Let’s get you checked in,” she said, motioning for the orderly to bring her to the front desk. “I’m sorry, but we’ve got a pretty long wait this morning.”

 

“Must be an unlucky day.” Mary Margaret turned to tell Emma that she might as well head home, only to find her having slunk away to a corner, holding a hushed conversation on her cellphone.

 

“You have no idea,” said Clare, sounding exhausted.

 

Mary Margaret filled out the necessary paperwork and endured another round of poking from Clare, who decided that the doctor would definitely want some X-rays done. The doctor. That thought sent a trill of anxiety rushing to her gut. “Clare,” she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Who’s working today?”

 

“Whale,” Clare replied, handing her an icepack for her ankle, then paused. Their ill-fated date had made it around the hospital gossip mills several times by now. “Aw, hon, that sucks.”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged, trying to shrug it off internally as well. “I suppose I’ll live.”

 

Emma appeared at her side, looking disgruntled. “Hey,” she said.

 

“Hey, what’s up?”

 

“That was Graham,” Emma replied, wheeling her friend out of the way as a mother and her sniffly little boy approached the desk. “Guess there’s an issue.”

 

“Gotta go in?”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Emma replied, then bit her lip. She pushed Mary Margaret along a row of chairs where she’d be out of the way. “Is there anyone I should call? I mean, it shouldn’t take that long. I can come get you when they patch you up, or-”

 

Mary Margaret interrupted her, laying a hand on her arm. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. Looks like I’ll be waiting for a while. I’ll call you, okay?”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret offered with a half-smile. “Go on. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Emma returned the smile and left at a jog, pulling out her phone again.

 

Mary Margaret hissed as she pressed the icepack to her ankle. It was swelling fast, already taking on a blue tinge, dark splotches circling her foot. No more running, she decided. Maybe that doctor’s note in junior high had been fate, because clearly she lacked the coordination necessary for a simple morning jog. She balanced the icepack across her ankle, and sank further in the wheelchair, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, only to feel the pack slide off the side of her foot and to the floor. She sighed. No luck today.

 

“Got it.”

 

She frowned and opened her eyes to find a man kneeling beside her, pressing the renegade icepack to her ankle. He smiled up at her with kind blue eyes.

 

“Thanks,” she murmured, still processing the situation. It seemed a bit too like the pivotal scene in a chick flick, or the iconic moment from a fairytale. Here she was, just little old Mary Margaret Blanchard with a handsome man kneeling before her, coming to her rescue. (But of course she didn’t believe in fairytales. Of course not. Especially not after her less-than-graceful fall earlier.)

 

“It’s David,” he told her. “David Nolan.” He took it upon himself (a bit boldly, she thought), to use her sock and the cuff of her pants to secure the icepack in place. “Ouch,” he grimaced, catching sight of her rather impressive bruises. “How’d you manage that?”

 

“I’m Mary Margaret,” she said, wincing as his fingers brushed a particularly tender spot. “And I tripped on a curb.”  
  


“Ouch,” David said again. Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, he moved to sit in the chair beside her.

 

She noticed his forearm was wrapped in gauze. She nodded to it. “What about you?”

 

“Ah,” he said, lifting his arm as if trying to remember. “Cat bite. Nothing too bad, but I’ve got a fun round of shots ahead of me.”

 

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose. That didn’t sound pleasant at all, but she was more than happy to keep up the conversation. The waiting room - small as it was - was completely full. “Cat bite? You don’t strike me as a cat person.”

 

He lifted his arm again with a chuckle. “Guilty as charged. I’m more of a dog person, but I work down at the animal shelter.”

 

“Oh. Are you a vet?”

 

“Maybe someday,” he grinned. “For now just a vet tech.” He raised his arm again. “Apparently I’m not ready for the next level.”

 

She laughed softly. “Should have known.”

 

“What about you?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

 

“I’m a teacher,” she said, feeling rusty already and wondering if this really was flirting or just small talk. “Fifth grade.”

 

“Good age,” said David.

 

“It is,” she agreed. Well, if they _were_ flirting, she was going to do it right. Handsome knights in plaid flannel shirts were in short supply in Storybrooke, and there was never any harm in embarrassing oneself in front of a total stranger. After all, she’d already admitted to losing a fight with the pavement, and she was decidedly stuck here in this waiting room. No use being lonely on top of it all. “I love kids. Even if they can be a handful.”

 

“Hey, at least they don’t bite.”

 

She laughed. “Most of the time.”

 

David was charming, and a welcome distraction from the throbbing pain in her ankle and foot. Patients in more dire need than they were taken back, the understaffed emergency department handling the influx as best they could. Meanwhile, David regaled her with the story of how Granny’s ‘vicious’ cat had latched onto his arm, and then insisted she describe her losing battle with the sidewalk. “Those curbs are sneaky,” he said, when she covered her face in embarrassment.

 

Mary Margaret was called back first, her dreaded meeting with Whale having arrived. After some X-rays and a fresh round of poking, it was decided that her ankle was merely sprained, but she’d have to stay off of it for the following week. Not the worst of outcomes, but certainly enough to grant her amnesty from running for the rest of her life. A pair of crutches, a bottle of pain meds and an ace bandage later, she was leaning against the wall outside the hospital, dialing Emma’s number.

 

No answer.

 

“So what’s the verdict?”

 

She jumped a little, surprised to find David standing beside her. His arm had been re-bandaged, and he was tugging his sleeve back down. “Just a sprain. A really, really bad sprain.”

 

David made a sympathetic noise and joined her in leaning against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

 

She shrugged. “It could be worse, I guess.” She checked her phone again, hoping for a text from Emma. No such luck. “How many shots did you wind up with?”

 

He pulled a face, counting on his fingers as he recalled the appointment. “Six,” he said. “I think.”

 

“Yikes.” She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fingertips, feeling the breeze pick up.

 

“That’s what I said, too.”

 

She checked her phone again. Still no Emma.

 

“It’s kind of cold out here,” he said, noticing her impatient discomfort. “What are you waiting on?”

 

“My roommate,” she replied. “She said to call and she’d pick me up but I can’t seem to reach her.” She refreshed the text message menu. No luck. “She just got a job at the police department. She’s probably stuck on a case.”  
  


David frowned. “So what are you going to do? Sit out here in the cold until she gets off work?”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Either that or hobble home. I guess I could try one of my co-workers.”

 

He paused for a moment. “I could give you a ride home?” he offered carefully. “I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything.”

 

“Uh,” she stammered, surprised that he’d be so willing to help her. “Are you sure?”

 

“That I’m not a serial killer?” he teased. “Yeah, pretty sure. Though I guess if I was one, I’d say the same thing, so you might just have to take your chances.”

 

She laughed, covering her reddening cheeks with her hands. “I meant about giving me a ride. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on the serial killer thing.”

 

He chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I wouldn’t feel right leaving you stranded here. And you might break the other one if you try to hobble home alone.”

 

“Well, I can’t let you have that on your conscience now, can I?”

 

He left her to go pull the car around - an old truck that trundled along, making suspicious thumping sounds. She laughed to herself, wondering if his preface about not being a serial killer had been more of an assurance than a joke. Normally, she would default to the warnings she gave her students and practice ‘Stranger Danger’ even as an adult, but her ankle was throbbing, the pain meds were making her drowsy and all she wanted was to go home and take a nice warm bath. Her apartment was barely five minutes away; not much time for any funny business.

 

David was out of the truck and running around to help her in by the time she’d pulled the door open and hauled herself up into the passenger seat. “I would’ve helped you,” he said, taking her crutches from her and placing them in the bed of the truck.

 

She smiled her thanks and fished her keys out of her pocket, before reaching back to pull on her seatbelt. The buckle snapped in place, just as her keys slipped from her hand to the gap between her seat and the gear shift. She slipped her hand down into the gap as David settled back into the driver’s seat.

 

“Drop something?”

 

“My keys,” she replied, sinking further down until her fingers brushed cool metal. “Got ‘em,” she said and grabbed at them blindly. She pulled the keys to freedom, along with a tube of pink lipstick. Her heart sank. “Looks like your shade,” she commented with a forced smile, trying to hide her disappointment.

 

He startled a bit. “Oh,” he said, and allowed her to place it in his palm. “Kathryn must have left it.” He considered the item for a moment before placing it carefully in the cup holder.

 

“Ah,” she said, not knowing how else to respond and suddenly wishing she had taken her chances hobbling home. “Your ...” she glanced to his hand - had she really not thought to look earlier? - “girlfriend?”

 

“Ex-wife.”

 

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of that.

 

David cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he said, clearly eager to change the subject, “where do I go?”

 

She shook herself. “Oh! Go up there,” she instructed, pointing to the next intersection, “and turn right.”

 

The trip was short - Storybrooke proper wasn’t really big enough for it to be otherwise - and only mildly uncomfortable. He still smiled over at her as they passed her school and she pointed out the window to her classroom; still waved at the man closing up the animal shelter. But he was distant, a different man than the one who’d lifted her spirits back in the waiting room.

 

He pulled the truck into park at the front door of her building. “Hope you live on the first floor?” It was the sort of quip he’d made back at the hospital, but he phrased it as a question, his confidence apparently shaken.

 

“Unfortunately no,” she said, and slid out of her seat, leaning against the side of the truck as he ran around to pull her crutches out of the bed.

 

“Do you need any help?” He handed her the crutches, almost hovering as she steadied herself.

 

“No,” she replied firmly. “You’ve done so much already.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.” She made her way to the front door, and turned around to find him leaning against his truck, watching her. She smiled. “It was nice meeting you, David.”

 


	3. Chapter Three

“ _Please buckle up,” Mary Margaret pleads, but she doesn’t slow down, feeling the wheels slide across the pavement as she rounds the turn._

 

_Regina pays her no mind, slipping out of the passenger seat and sliding into the back with her boyfriend. She bumps Mary Margaret’s shoulder in the process, causing the car to swerve a little to the side. Both girls shriek and giggle in response. Daniel greets Regina with open arms, pressing clumsy, open-mouthed kisses to her lips. They both reek of alcohol, the smell burning Mary Margaret’s eyes even from across the car._

 

“ _Where are we going?” She’s driving aimlessly (and a little too quickly). She should have taken one look at their tipsy faces and driven them home. She could still do that. “And why are you two drunk? It’s_ my _birthday.”_

 

“ _Because_ you’re _too little,” Regina replies cheekily. She giggles when Daniel pokes her._

 

“ _Be nice,” he says._

 

_Regina is indignant. “I am nice.”_

 

_Mary Margaret likes Daniel. Regina’s other boyfriends had always treated her like a baby, had always told Regina to ‘ditch the loser’ when they thought she wasn’t listening. Daniel includes her, treats her like family. He’d even taken her shopping for that very special ring; the one that has yet to make it onto Regina’s finger._

 

“ _Where are we going?” she asks again. She knows to be patient with drunks._

 

“ _Take the toll bridge,” says Regina. “We have a surprise for you.”_

 

_Mary Margaret rounds the corner onto the back road that leads to the old toll bridge. Her father had insisted she wait to get her license until spring, not trusting her to drive alone in the harsh Maine winter. She isn’t alone, though. Regina and Daniel are plenty old enough to “chaperone” her with her learner’s permit. Yep, completely legal (if you ignore the alcohol and curfew violations). Nothing dangerous, though. And what her father doesn’t know ..._

 

“ _What sort of surprise?”_

 

“ _You’ll just have to wait and see,” Regina teases._

 

_Mary Margaret laughs nervously, and catches sight of Daniel in the rearview mirror pressing delicate kisses to the side of Regina’s neck._

 

_The toll bridge looms ahead. There’s something special about bridges and overpasses, she remembers. Something Mr. Kemp had said was important in driver’s ed class._

 

_A truck rounds the corner from the other side, high beams glancing across the windshield. Mary Margaret flashes her own, blinded. She hits the bridge and suddenly she remembers Mr. Kemp’s words of wisdom. Their rear-end drifts to the left as the car begins to fishtail. She holds her breath, trying to concentrate over the sounds of Regina scrambling for her seatbelt and Daniel trying to talk her through the crisis. The truck is on the bridge now, too, slowing to a careful stop. She turns into the slide (that’s what you do, right?) trying to swerve away from the truck._

 

_She overshoots._

 

“ _Mary Margaret!”_

 

_The sound of smashing glass; crunching metal._

 

“Mary Margaret!”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret woke with a gasp, finding herself sprawled out on the floor beside her bed, tangled in her sheets. She was breathing hard, chest heaving, and staring up into the concerned face of her roommate. It had been almost ten years since she’d last had that nightmare; ten years free from the fear and guilt of that terrible night.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Mary Margaret blinked up at Emma, her words silenced by the sound of the crash. “What?” she said, still regaining her breath.

 

Emma reached out and placed an uncertain hand on her shoulder. “You were dreaming. I heard a crash and came down and you were here on the floor.” There was a flicker of something new in Emma’s eyes - fear. “What were you dreaming about?”

 

Mary Margaret hesitated, swallowing the shadowy terror of the nightmare. “I don’t know,” she lied. “I don’t remember.” She’d almost told Emma, several nights ago when she’d asked about Regina. And just as before, she couldn’t bring herself to tell, too ashamed to face the past.

 

Emma looked unconvinced, but didn’t say anything. Of course, her ‘superpower’. She offered her hands. “Want some help?”

 

Mary Margaret nodded, and braced herself against Emma’s shoulders instead. She pulled herself up onto her good leg, almost toppling over again as she got caught up in the sheet.

 

Emma slipped her arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders and hauled her back into bed, careful of her injury. “Did you hurt your ankle again?”

 

The pain, as if sensing the attention, made its presence known once more. Her ankle ached, even through the haze of medication. “I think I bumped it,” she admitted, touching it carefully. “But it’s fine.”

 

“Are you sure?” Emma perched herself on the edge of the bed, as if a little frightened to get too close. “I thought I heard you,” she paused, frowning momentarily, “screaming, or something.”

 

Mary Margaret waved it off as casually as she could. “Probably just some weird dream from the pain meds.”

 

Emma eyed her skeptically, but didn’t push any further. She collected sheet from the floor and spread it carefully over Mary Margaret, followed by the blanket. “Can I get you anything?”

 

“No.” Mary Margaret curled up under the covers, pulling them to her chin. “Sorry I bothered you.” Sorry. So, so sorry.

 

Emma frowned, but when her friend made no move to continue the conversation, she left, flicking off the light as she went. Mary Margaret held her breath, listening as Emma’s footsteps faded as she made her way upstairs. She waited in the darkness, waited for silence.

 

And when she was certain Emma was asleep, she turned her face into her pillow and let out a single, strangled sob.

 

_I’m so sorry._

 

\--

 

Despite being a morning person, Mary Margaret had never been fond of Mondays. Even as she’d roll out of bed with a smile, it never took long to cross someone whose rotten Monday mood would sour her day in turn. This particular Monday was already not helping to improve her opinion. By 7:15AM, she’d discovered firsthand that any added weight tends to throw off the balance necessary for using crutches, that driving with one’s left foot is more difficult than it looks, and that even schoolteachers should work on upper body strength every now and again.

 

Finally, she managed to squeeze her way through the morning crowd at Granny’s, desperate for coffee. She’d convinced herself that the recurrence of that horrible nightmare - and thus the source of her massive sleep debt - was simply a result of the prescription pain meds that were clearly too strong for her small size. (Never mind that she hadn’t taken any more since that night, but these effects take some time to wear off, right? Right.) Normally, she could make it on a single cup until her kids left for PE, but on this particular Monday, that just wasn’t going to cut it.

 

She made it to the counter, greeting Ruby - the waitress - with a tired smile. Though they’d grown apart over the years, they were old friends. Ruby had been the popular one of course, the cheerleader with the dark streak. Upon graduating high school, though, Mary Margaret had left for college while Ruby had stayed to help her ailing grandmother run the diner. A lot changed over the four years Mary Margaret was gone, but not Ruby. “Hey,” said Mary Margaret, balancing her crutches as she attempted to rifle through her purse.

 

“Yeesh. What did you do?”

 

“I went running,” Mary Margaret admitted sheepishly, then barely caught her crutches as they started to slip.

 

Ruby laughed. “I thought you had a doctor’s note.”

 

“Tell that to my roommate.”

 

Ruby snorted softly and tapped her fingernails against the cash register. “So ... coffee, two creams?”

 

“No,” said Mary Margaret, fumbling for her wallet again. “Black today.” The crutches started to get away from her again, and she abandoned her search.

 

Ruby waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. On the house.”

 

Mary Margaret smiled her thanks and accepted the coffee a moment later, awkwardly tucking one of her crutches against her side. She managed to hobble a few paces away before everything - her crutches, her purse, the scalding cup of coffee - came crashing down around her. No, she decided with a sigh, Mondays were definitely not for her. She dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could manage, collecting the various items that had spilled out of her purse before they got too soaked in coffee.

 

A moment later, someone was on their knees beside her, mopping up the spilled beverage with a wad of napkins. She looked up.

 

“David?”

 

David smiled up at her, pressing more napkins into the puddle. “Hey,” he said. “I thought it was you.”

 

She covered her face with her hand, wondering how many other possible ways there were for her to embarrass herself in front of the same person. “Well, "It looks like making a fool of myself has become a habit lately.” The mess covered in a layer of napkins, he helped her carefully to the nearest chair and fetched her purse and crutches. “Thanks.”

 

He grinned, pulling out his wallet, and called out to Ruby, “Two coffees please.”

 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted, paying Ruby before bringing over a fresh cup of coffee. “Except maybe you should drink this one here instead of on the go.”

 

“Just maybe,” she replied, and accepted the cup from him. “Thank you.”

 

He nodded, slipped into the chair across from her and took a sip of his own coffee. “So how’s the leg doing?”

 

“Better. Still getting used to the crutches, though.”

 

“I noticed,” he quipped, smiling charmingly at her over his coffee.

 

She fought the blush rising in her cheeks. “What about you? Any more cats get the better of you?”

 

David cast a mock-wounded glare to the proprietor of the establishment, who returned it in kind. “No, just the one.” He unbuttoned his sleeve to show her that the patch of gauze had been replaced by two normal band-aids. “Almost as good as new.”

 

“Good,” she said, and took a long drink of coffee.

 

They sat in silence for a moment, nursing their drinks.

 

“So, do you usually come here in the mornings?” he asked finally, looking at her in a way that made her think he was skirting a ledge around his true intentions. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head. “No, not usually in the mornings.”

 

He smirked. “Monday getting you down, then?”

 

“You have no idea,” she chuckled. “I’m almost wondering if I should have called in for a sub.”

 

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said warmly.

 

Mary Margaret swallowed the remainder of her coffee, glancing to her watch. “Oh,” she said, regretting having to leave so soon. “I should probably get going. With everything that happened this weekend, I didn’t quite finish all my grading.”

 

David made a show of finishing his coffee as well, and stood to help her with her crutches. “Here,” he said, taking her purse for her. “Let me help you to your car at least.”

 

She accepted the crutches, and moved to leave. “What?” she teased. “Worried that I’ll spill someone else’s coffee?”

 

“Well,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Your track record isn’t exactly great, and I wouldn’t want to see any more coffee go to waste.”

 

“Quite the gentleman then, I see.”

 

“Of course,” he replied, and followed her as they made their way to her car. He pulled her door open for her and carefully helped her inside.

 

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said, watching as he slid the crutches into the backseat. “And for rescuing me. Again.”

 

“My pleasure.” He smiled, then paused before closing the car door. “It was nice seeing you again, Mary Margaret.”

 

“Same here.”

 

They both hesitated, staring at one another for a long moment before he carefully closed the door and waved her off.

 

Maybe Mondays weren’t so bad after all.

 

–

 

The week passed quickly enough, and with it, Mary Margaret’s ankle began to heal. The swelling had lessened, and the patches of purplish-blue had turned to a sickly greenish-yellow. Come Thursday, despite Dr. Whale’s instructions, she decided that the pain was manageable enough to bid farewell to her crutches and hobble around on both feet instead. And thank goodness she had; she couldn’t imagine explaining the situation at parent-teacher conferences would be very enjoyable.

 

Conferences were coming to an end. Fourteen sets of parents down, and only one to go. She’d secretly been dreading this moment all evening, and her stomach lurched as Regina and Henry Mills entered her classroom. She forced a smile for Henry’s sake and stood to greet them. “Hi Henry. Miss Mills.”

 

“Miss Blanchard!” Henry ran around the desk to hug her, and she rubbed his back in return, her smile becoming genuine as she looked down at him.

 

“Good evening, Miss Blanchard,” said Regina curtly.

 

Mary Margaret extended her hand to the other woman -- “Always a pleasure,” -- but withdrew it when Regina made no move to shake it. “Please, sit down,” she said, discouraged, and gestured to the chairs opposite her desk. Regina and Henry settled in their seats, Henry looking up at Mary Margaret happily while Regina just raised one artfully sculpted eyebrow. An awkward silence. “Well,”said Mary Margaret, hoping to break the tension. “As you probably know, Henry’s grades are really improving. He’s a hard worker, and it really shows.”

 

Henry beamed.

 

Regina said nothing.

 

Mary Margaret pushed on, despite her confidence being shaken. “He’s also really opening up to his classmates. I think he’s really starting to break out of his-”

 

“Miss Blanchard,” Regina interrupted, holding her at an even stare. “It’s my understanding that you had ... wild birds in your classroom?”

 

Mary Margaret frowned. “Well, yes, I suppose. Just a bluebird. When we were building the birdhouses. Surely Henry brought his home with-”

 

“Of course he did. And he told me you had a wild bird in this classroom. Is that correct?”

 

Mary Margaret frowned. Henry sank down in his seat, casting her an apologetic look. “Yes,” she said. “I did.”

 

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you stop to think for one second that this might be a health risk? That this animal could have exposed my child to any number of diseases? Or that it might have hurt someone?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret said quietly. “I didn’t. But nothing happened.”

 

“This time,” said Regina, her voice and anger rising. “This time nothing happened. And there won’t be a next time. I’ll be telling the principal about this indiscretion of yours.”

 

Indiscretion. Oh, so that’s what this was about. “Regina,” Mary Margaret tried softly, noticing Henry look up at her curiously at the mention of his mother’s given name, “Is this about Emma?”

 

“This has nothing to do with _Miss Swan_ ,” Regina insisted, standing and leaning over her, palms braced against the edge of the desk. “And everything to do with my son’s teacher being irresponsible with his safety.”

 

Mary Margaret recoiled, unwilling to rise to her provocation with Henry in the room. He looked mildly frightened; though Mary Margaret could never imagine Regina harming him, she would not leave him with the burden of knowing what his mother might do to _her_. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“You’re right. It won’t.” Regina straightened herself, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt and regaining her composure. “Henry,” she said, firm but not angry. “We’re leaving.”

 

As she left, Henry hesitated, glancing uncertainly between his mother and his teacher. “It’s okay,” Mary Margaret mouthed, and nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. She watched as he ran after his mother, then buried her face in her arms, completely drained.

 


	4. Interlude: Regina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Angie, for the beta!

_Regina blinks once, then blinks again. Her head is pounding. Sure, they’d been drinking, but not enough for a hangover_ this _bad. She turns, searching for Daniel - Daniel who is always beside her, sleeps alongside her every night - but finds the steady glow of a heart monitor in his place._

 

_The hospital. She’s in the hospital._

 

“ _What,” she croaks, voice low and dry from disuse, “what happened?”_

 

_A nurse stoops to her level and squeezes her hand. “Miss Mills, it’s okay. You were in a car accident.”_

 

“ _A car-” she breathes, trying to process this information, “A what?” She looks around again, frantic this time as the world comes into focus. She tries to sit up, but the stabbing pain in her abdomen pulls her back, sends bile to her throat. She breathes - slowly, deeply - as she pushes past the pain. Alone. She’s alone, save the insistent beep of the heart monitor. “Daniel,” she says, gripping the nurse’s hand. “Where’s Daniel?”_

 

_A grim expression crosses the elder woman’s face, and she excuses herself, slipping away from the room._

 

Beep.

 

_She can’t move, and doesn’t dare try again, but she presses her hand carefully to the tearing pain in her stomach. She feels the broad dressing beneath her hospital gown and notices that her arms are wrapped in gauze and they_ burn.

 

Beep.

 

_Things become hazy once more, the world drifting around her as her body remains rooted, heavy. She remembers now; remembers the ice on the toll bridge, remembers crashing through glass and being thrown onto the snow-covered ground. She remembers the silence._

 

_A doctor enters, pulls a stool up beside the bed and sits. He gazes at the file, not her - his bedside manner lacking - and he does nothing to answer her questions._

 

“ _Where’s Daniel?” she asks immediately. “And Mary Margaret. Are they all right?”_

 

_He tells her she’s been in a car accident; does she remember anything? Yes, but_ where are they _? Calm down- No, she won’t calm down until-_

 

“ _You’re going to be all right,” he says, and the sudden shift in his tone pulls her from her internal argument. He sounds … sorry._

 

_Her gut twists. “But?” It’s suddenly much harder to breathe. “What is it?”_

 

_The doctor takes a long, deep breath, and exhales. “You’ll make a full recovery,” he says gently, “but we were unable to save the baby.”_

 

_She frowns. “Baby?” The shooting pain in her abdomen returns, as if on cue. “But I’m not pregnant,” she insists, tearfully._

 

_He lays a gentle hand on her own and shakes his head apologetically. “Not anymore.”_

 

\--

 

Regina gazed down at her son, peaceful in sleep. His whole life, she’d been grateful to the mysterious woman who’d given him up. It’s funny, she thought, that the person she’d wanted to thank most would be the person she’d least like to meet. If only she could trust her, this Emma Swan.

 

She couldn’t lose him.

 

She bent to press her lips to his forehead, and whispered, “I love you, Henry.”

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Angie, for the beta!

When the weekend came, Mary Margaret was ready for battle, so to speak. Her principal had only given her the proverbial slap on the wrist, and informed her that wild bluebirds were no longer allowed in her classroom. But she wouldn’t be so easily deterred. Love, respect and understanding for animals had always been an important lesson she taught her students, and a little intervention from Regina Mills was not about to stop her.

 

Sure, she couldn’t bring in birds from outside, but there was nothing in school regulations forbidding a properly vetted class pet.

 

And so Saturday morning, Mary Margaret made her way to the local animal shelter, intent on adopting a pet bird for her class. Come to think of it, this was even better than what she’d been doing before - this would be a bird the students would be able to handle and care for themselves - and best of all, Regina would not be able to stop her.

 

She pushed open the front door, and peered inside. “Hello?” she called out, and let herself into the lobby. No response. There were an assortment of brochures available near the front desk, and she busied herself leafing through them. While she’d already decided on a bird (maybe a little to spite Regina), she found herself drawn to other options as well. She was just pondering whether Emma wouldn’t mind a kitten around the apartment when she heard the door open from behind the desk.

 

“Mary Margaret?”

 

Her head darted up to find David standing behind the desk, wearing a set of scrubs patterned with cartoon dog bones. “David,” she smiled. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

 

Okay, maybe that was a lie, but just a little one.

 

He saw right through her. “I told you I worked here,” he said, folding his arms and rounding the desk to stand next to her.

 

Her mind scrambled for a cover. “Oh, I didn’t know you worked weekends though.”

 

“Only in the morning,” he said, plucking the pamphlet on kittens from her hand. “Or if the doc needs help on an emergency surgery or something.” He considered the brochure for a moment. “So what are you doing here then? Interested in adopting a cat?”

 

“No,” she replied sadly, taking back the pamphlet and considering with a wistful smile before returning it to the shelf. “That’s probably something I should clear with my roommate first. I was actually wondering if you had any birds?”

 

“So you don’t have to clear a bird with your roommate first?” he teased. “I think I like her already.”

 

She nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Not for me. For my class.”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “A class pet? Don’t people usually do bunnies or hamsters for that?” He swiped a pamphlet on birds off the shelf. “Or fish? Fish would be easy.”

 

“Well,” she sighed. “It’s kind of to prove a point.” She leaned her back against the shelf and explained the incident with Regina, and how she’d done this same lesson every year and this was the _very first time_ anyone had ever tried to stop her. Meanwhile, David hopped up to sit on the edge of the front desk, listening patiently.

 

“Wow,” he said. “She sounds like a real piece of work.”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head. “It’s not that. She just hates me.”

 

He seemed genuinely shocked. “Why?”

 

“It’s ...” she looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, “a really long story. Do you ... do you have any birds?”

 

David paused for a moment, but decided not to push her any further. He jumped down from his perch on the desk. “Yeah, we’ve got a few.”

 

“Great,” she said and followed him into the back hallway to the kennels.

 

“Here.” He pressed a handful of dog treats into her palm. “Maybe you can make some friends along the way.”

 

She smiled up at him, and approached the first enclosure on her left, where a black lab puppy with too-big ears was jumping for her attention. “Well, hello there,” she checked the paper hanging from the lock, “Ralph.” She passed the treat through the wire cage, where Ralph happily accepted it, and licked her palm in thanks. “What a sweetheart,” she said as she stood to make her way to the next excited dog. “How on earth do you not bring all of them home with you?”

 

“Same reason you’re not adopting a cat,” he replied, watching her offer the next dog - an arthritic old golden retriever - his fair share of treats. “My roommate isn’t really a dog person. Or an animal person.” After a moment, he chuckled and added, “Or even a people person.”

 

She looked up at him over her shoulder. “Dear lord,” she laughed. “Who’s your roommate?”

 

“Do you know Leroy?”

 

She burst into a fit of giggles as she stood up. “You live with Leroy?” His laughter joined hers and he nodded. “I never would have guessed.”

 

They made their way slowly down the row of dog kennels, David watching with a smile as Mary Margaret made sure to give special attention to each and every animal they passed. As she bid farewell to the last dog - a beagle puppy tripping over his own dangly ears - she turned to thank him and was surprised to see him staring at her in a way she hadn’t expected, making her heart swell.

 

“So, do you want to look at birds next?” he asked, offering his hand to help her up. “Or cats?”

 

“Birds,” she said pointedly.

 

“Cats it is then,” he winked, and led her around the corner, his fingertips pressing delicately against the small of her back as he steered her to a stack of smaller kennels, each containing a feline resident. The warmth of his hand stirred something within her, something long forgotten. She glanced up at him uncertainly, not knowing what she was more afraid of - having only imagined this connection between them, or having _not_ imagined it.

 

David laughed awkwardly and pulled away to unlock one of the kennels, procuring from within a mass of white fur. He dumped the kitten into her hands and it blinked up at her with wide, blue eyes.

 

“Oh, this is just mean.”

 

He gave her an innocent look, but she only caught it out of the corner of her eye as she focused on the sleepy kitten in her hands. “What?”

 

“You’re trying to get me attached,” she said, and regretfully placed the kitten back in its cage, scratching its ears.

 

“No, I’m not,” he lied, re-locking the cage. “Maybe I’m just trying to keep you here longer.”

 

Her heart leapt at that. “Oh?” she said lamely, unable to formulate a witty response.

 

“Work is pretty slow on Saturdays.”

 

Her heart sank, just a little. “Oh,” she said again, even more lamely.

 

A few more turns, and they arrived at a small room towards the back of the shelter, holding the smaller pets up for adoption. One wall held several habitats containing rodents of all shapes and sizes, while the opposite wall featured three bird cages lined up side by side. She approached the first cage slowly, kneeling down to peer inside.

 

“That’s Eva,” said David, kneeling down next to her. “She’s been here for a while. Her old owners couldn’t keep her anymore.”

 

“Hi, Eva,” she crooned, and opened the cage door. “I’m Mary Margaret.” She offered her finger as a perch. Eva cocked her head to one side before hopping onto Mary Margaret’s finger, chirping happily at her. Mary Margaret laughed, stroking the bird’s soft head with her fingertips.

 

“Looks like love at first sight,” David commented with a chuckle.

 

Excellent choice of words. Love at first sight, indeed.

 

“I think so,” Mary Margaret agreed, smiling at the lovebird as she continued to sing happily.

 

“So you don’t want to see the others?” asked David.

 

Mary Margaret shook her head vehemently. “No,” she said decidedly. “We wouldn’t want Eva to get jealous.”

 

“No, we wouldn’t,” David agreed, amusement playing in his voice. “So I’m assuming you’ve made your decision?”

 

“Yes,” she said, gently setting Eva back in her cage and smiling up at him. “Yes, I have.”

 

Ten minutes later, they found themselves back at the front desk, Eva chirping happily in her cage from the floor, sitting next to an excessively large bag of toys and treats, while Mary Margaret finished up with the paperwork. “Wow,” she said, turning to the sixth page of the application. “You’d think I was adopting a baby, not a bird.”

 

David sighed, agreeing with her sentiment. “You should see the paperwork for dogs.”

 

She scribbled down the last of the necessary information, and signed the waiver. “There,” she said. “I think that’s all.”

 

He accepted the paperwork from her and leafed through it, apparently not reading her lengthy responses in much detail, before signing his approval. “Congratulations,” he smiled. “You’ve been approved.”  
  
Mary Margaret giggled. “Oh thank goodness, I was getting a little worried there.” She handed over her credit card to pay the adoption fee, and for the massive array of goodies she’d selected. Eva was already a very spoiled girl.

 

“Yeah,” he joked, handing back her credit card. “You do seem like quite the troublemaker.”

 

She gathered up her purse, the bag of bird supplies and, of course, the bird herself. “Right. Well ... is there anything else you need from me?”

 

David shook his head. “No, that’s it. You can let us know if you need anything, though.”

 

“I will,” she said. “And ... thank you.”

 

She was halfway out the door, when he called out to her, “Mary Margaret!” and ran around the desk to meet her, stopping a few feet away while she stalled awkwardly in the doorway.

 

Mary Margaret waited expectantly. Eva chirped.

 

“I was just wondering,” he began, nervously scratching the back of his neck, “what are you doing later tonight?”

 

Her heart raced, but she swallowed down her excitement, fearful to get her hopes too high. “Um, nothing really. Why?”

 

“I was just, well, I was thinking maybe,” he stumbled over his words, more flustered than she’d seen him before. “Maybe we could have dinner or something?”

 

She inhaled sharply, tightening her grip on Eva’s cage. “You mean,” she clarified, mouth going dry, “like a date?”

 

“Well, yeah,” he said, looking hopeful.

 

Mary Margaret took a deep breath, trying her hardest to remain calm, and smiled broadly at him. “I’d like that.”

 

“Me, too.” He laughed, embarrassed, and pressed his hand to his forehead. “Of course I’d like it too. I suggested it.”

 

She giggled in response, the sort of girlish giggle that she thought made her sound like a lovestruck schoolgirl. Normally, she would be mortified, but his laughter was infectious, and in the end they were both grinning like idiots.

 

“How about Granny’s at seven?”

 

“Granny’s at seven is good,” she confirmed, still standing awkwardly half-inside and half-outside.

 

“Good,” he said. “Good. I’ll see you then?”

 

“See you then,” she said, smiling foolishly at him for longer than necessary before running up the path (as best as she could on her still-tender ankle) towards her car.

 

A date. She had a date.

 

And she was pretty sure this one wouldn’t spend dinner staring at Ruby’s ass.

 

\--

 

“What’s this?”

 

Mary Margaret peeked out of her closet to find Emma pouring herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen. “What’s what?” She then saw Eva chirping away, cage resting on the kitchen counter. “Oh! That’s Eva. I got her for my class.”

 

Emma carefully opened the cage door, cooing at the little bird. “I assumed as much,” she said, offering Eva her finger. “I was actually referring to the tornado that hit your room.” Eva considered the proffered finger, then quickly nipped it in way of rejection. “Cute,” Emma commented wryly, shaking her hand and closing the cage door.

 

“Oh,” said Mary Margaret, suddenly flustered. “I have a date.”

 

Emma perked up. “A date?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“With whom?” Emma asked in a decidedly teasing tone.

 

Mary Margaret smiled shyly. “David.”

 

Emma’s eyes widened. “David? Drove-you-home-from-the-hospital David?”

 

Mary Margaret laughed. “Yes, that David.”

 

“About time,” said Emma, coming over to clear off a small corner of the bed before sitting down. “So where’s he taking you?”

 

“Granny’s,” Mary Margaret replied while holding a dress up to her body and examining herself in the mirror.

 

Emma tilted her head to the side in a half-hearted shrug. “I guess there’s not too many other options around here,” she said, then held back a spurt of laughter as Mary Margaret considered a flashy cocktail dress that didn’t seem to belong in her wardrobe at all. “But _that_ is probably overdoing it.”

 

“Probably,” Mary Margaret sighed, adding the dress to the ever-growing pile on the bed. “I’m no good at this.”

 

Emma smiled reassuringly and nursed her coffee. “From what you’ve told me, I’m pretty sure this David isn’t going to care what you wear.”

 

“But I want to do this right.”

 

Emma thought for a moment. “Wait here,” she said, and ran upstairs, leaving her coffee on Mary Margaret’s dresser.

 

Mary Margaret groaned and collapsed back onto the pile of discarded clothes, wondering faintly if she could cancel. Yes, she could call and tell him she’d fallen ill. You know, in the whole nine hours since she’d seen him.

 

Except she didn’t have his number.

 

Except she didn’t have his number, and she _wanted_ to go. If only she had anything to wear.

 

A few moments later, Emma came running back down the stairs, a red dress hanging from her hand. “Try this,” she said, a glint in her eyes.

 

The dress fit, but just barely. Mary Margaret was a small woman, but Emma’s taste in clothes was much ... _tighter_ than the light, flowy skirts and blouses Mary Margaret preferred. “No,” she said, examining herself in the mirror. “Definitely no.”  
  
“What are you talking about? You look hot.”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret insisted uncomfortably. “No, I do not.” She angled herself, unable to remember the last time she saw her body in such ... _detail_.

 

“David’ll like it,” Emma said with a smirk, and settled into her spot on the bed, sipping at her coffee.

 

Mary Margaret chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, I’m sure he would.”

 

Emma poked at the mountain of clothes beside her until she came up with a black cardigan. “Here,” she said, tossing it to her roommate. “How about a compromise? Try that over it.”

 

Mary Margaret eyed her skeptically, then slipped into the sweater, leaving it unbuttoned at the top. It was better, she supposed. “Well, I guess ...”

 

“You don’t guess,” Emma warned, and stood to rinse her mug out in the sink. “You look great, and don’t even think about changing again after I leave.”

 

Mary Margaret frowned, padding barefoot into the kitchen behind her, her shoes dangling from her fingers. “Where are you going? It’s a Saturday night!”

 

“Graham asked me to cover for him,” Emma explained. “Something about volunteering at the animal shelter or something.”

 

Huh, Mary Margaret hadn’t known that Graham worked at the shelter too. She’d have to ask David about that. “So you’re taking the whole night shift?”

 

“Yep,” Emma sighed, already sounding exhausted. “Just came back to re-caffeinate.” She made her way to the door, and smiled mischievously at her friend as she pulled on her jacket. “But now I’m guessing it’s a good thing I’ll be gone all night.” She ducked as one of Mary Margaret’s shoes came flying in her direction.

 

Mary Margaret giggled into her hand, her cheeks warm. “Go,” she said, unable to contain her laughter. “Before I throw the other one, too.”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret waited at Granny’s for as long as her dignity would allow, subtly checking the clock every two minutes or so. Eventually, the time on her watch matched the time on the clocktower, and even her optimism began to fail. She had to accept it - he wasn’t coming.

 

“Jerk stood you up, huh?”

 

She turned, startled out of her thoughts to find Ruby casting her a sympathetic look. Storybrooke didn’t exactly have much in the way of ‘hangouts,’ and with Mary Margaret’s disastrous dating life, there was no doubt that Ruby would be able to piece together why she was wearing Emma’s clothes and holding a staring contest with the clock.

 

“He might just be running late,” said Mary Margaret hopefully.

 

“You’ve been here for over an hour, hon.”

 

Mary Margaret sighed, twisting her ring around her finger, and with one last glance to her watch, she pulled out a few dollars for Ruby’s trouble.

 

Ruby pushed the money back to her. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, offering her an encouraging smile. “You’ve had a rough night.”

 

Rough indeed.

 

Ruby sent her off in style, telling her how she wished they could turn this disaster into a girls’ night, but there was no-one to cover her shift. Instead, she packed up a to-go bag with a carton of home-made ice cream and a handful of Apollo bars. “Rent yourself a sappy movie,” she instructed as she handed her the bag.

 

“Thanks,” replied Mary Margaret, summoning up a ghost of a smile before retreating to her car.

 

There was a storm pressing in, with winter still lingering on the doorstep of their secluded town. The steering wheel was like ice, and she found herself breathing into her palms while she waited for the light to turn. She couldn’t decide what was worse: a terrible date with Whale or being stood up by David. Either way, it seemed her luck wasn’t improving. In fact, she felt she was now only wasting time imagining that a real-life fairytale might be somewhere in her future.

 

Thunder crashed, the skies opened up, and rain began to fall.

 

The radio sprung to life, crooning a love song.

 

She gave the controls one good thwack, and then another, until her car’s already-failing stereo admitted defeat.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Angie, for the beta!

Mary Margaret had never been one for sappy movies - sappy novels, yes; sappy movies, no - so she decided the night would be best spent in the world of fairytales, accompanied by a glass of wine and the sweets Ruby had sent home with her. She’d always insisted that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending was a very powerful thing, and she wouldn’t let one non-existent date take that from her. So David was apparently not her Prince Charming. So what? There was always tomorrow.

 

Or so her book of fairytales insisted. No-one who remained pure and good-of-heart wound up alone in these stories, and surely she was _good_. If only real life followed the neat guidelines laid out by children’s stories.

 

She’d just reached the end of both her first glass of wine and chapter three, the colorful illustrations depicting Snow White caught up in a net set by her prince, when there was a knock at her door.

 

She frowned and set the book aside, careful of the old leather binding, and trudged over to the door, carton of ice cream in hand. Since arriving home, she’d opted for a pair of old leggings and her favorite oversized sweater, but her feet were still bare and she hissed as they made contact with the cold floor.

 

She opened the door to find David, of all people, breathing hard and soaked to the bone in his scrubs, a bunch of equally soaked flowers and a grocery bag stuffed with clothes dangling from his hands. She faltered a moment, not quite certain what to make of this. “Hi,” she said, unsure of what else to say.

 

“Hi,” he replied breathlessly. “Look, I’m really sorry but work and then my car---” He sighed. “Can I ... come in?”

 

Mary Margaret debated for a moment. He’d stood her up, yes, but it seemed that wasn’t the whole story. Emma might tell her she was being too forgiving, but Emma wasn’t here, so she stepped aside anyways, letting him bring his dripping self inside.

 

He held out the soaked bouquet of daisies. “Do you know Dr. Hopper?” he asked, as she collected the flowers and placed them on the counter to recover from the storm, along with her embarrassingly large tub of ice cream. Eva stirred in her cage.

 

“Archie? Of course.”

 

“Well, his dog,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair, “Pongo. He got loose, and a car---”

 

“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

 

“No, no,” David insisted, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, his skin like ice. “It’s okay now. He wasn’t so good, but we got to him in time.” He squeezed her hand, then laced his fingers with hers. “He’ll be fine.”

 

“Thank god,” she breathed.

 

“But by the time we got out of surgery, I was already so late that I knew you’d be gone, but my truck-” he sighed. “I don’t know, I must have just been in such a hurry when I got called in, I left the door open and the battery-”

 

Mary Margaret gaped. “So you, what? _Ran_ here? In the storm?”

 

He shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah,” he admitted, and only then did she notice that his lips were pale and his hand wasn’t trembling against her own - he was _shivering_. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone to such lengths to make her happy, or had considered her feelings to this extent. While she didn’t have his phone number, she was certain he could have easily looked hers up in the adoption file and called to apologize. But he hadn’t; he’d run here on foot through the freezing rain.

 

“Come on,” she said softly, leading him by the hand to the bathroom. “Let’s get you dried off.”

 

“Luckily, I think these are still mostly dry,” he commented, indicating the bag containing the clothes he’d clearly intended to wear on their date. “Otherwise I might have had to borrow something of yours.”

 

She laughed. “Uh huh, that would have been a sight.” She rose up on her toes to reach the tall cabinet in the corner of the bathroom, rifling through its contents for the fluffier bath towels. “You can hang your wet clothes over the shower rod,” she said, pulling free a soft, pink towel. Not very manly, but it would do. She pulled down a second, just in case, and then turned to him. “I can drive you home when the storm’s---”

 

And there he was, standing in her bathroom, _shirtless_ , throwing his scrub top over the shower rod.

 

“Oh,” she said lamely.

 

He turned, and her breath caught in her throat. The familiar seam of a surgical incision ran lengthwise down his torso, and there, just above his left hip bone, she saw the remnants of an old wound, a deep, pink and gnarled scar. She found another, slicing across his left shoulder in one jagged slash. Mary Margaret was not a stranger to scars, both giving and receiving, so she said nothing, knowing all too well the pain that lay beneath them.

 

She swallowed her emotions and held out the fluffy pink towel. “Here,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his.

 

“Thanks,” he replied, and accepted the towel, working it over the skin of his chest and shoulders.

 

She offered him a lopsided smile and threw the other towel over his head, ruffling his hair dry. “You know,” she said quietly. “You could have just called. You didn’t need to go out and catch pneumonia just to tell me that there’d been an emergency.” She pushed the towel back around his neck so she could see his face, but kept her fingers locked around the fabric.

 

“I know,” he said, suddenly embarrassed. “I just ... really wanted to see you tonight.”

 

She felt her heart rate rising, and gripped tighter onto the towel. “Me, too,” she admitted. “I’m glad you came.”

 

He leaned closer in response, settling his hands on her waist, cold fingers burying themselves in the soft wool of her sweater. “Mary Margaret,” he whispered, voice low and full of ... _something_. He gazed at her through heavily lidded eyes, focus shifting down to her lips.

 

She inhaled - just one, deep, shuddering breath - and closed her eyes, fingers moving from the towel to the still-damp skin of his chest. His heart was racing too, pounding against her fingertips.

 

She stepped back, breaking the moment. “You should change,” she said, shaking her head as she freed herself from the tension. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate?” And without giving him time to respond, she quickly backed out of the bathroom, closing the door as she left.

 

Leaning against the counter, she waited for the milk to heat and internally berated herself for killing the mood. She’d always known she had a habit of self-sabotage, but this was a new record, even for her. She wanted him; he wanted her. There were no strings, no hidden catches behind the situation, but just two mature, consenting adults with a mutual interest.

 

(She thought of his scars, of his past. How she wanted to learn them and memorize them. How she wanted so desperately for him to know hers as well.)

 

She shook herself. What would Emma do? It was becoming her mantra as of late. While Emma’s past may not have been smooth, she couldn’t help but admire her. Emma played an active role in her own life; meanwhile Mary Margaret was a bystander, always taking the passive role and letting life happen to her instead of the other way around.

 

Well, she thought, no more.

 

The date was still salvageable, despite both of their mistakes. She made her way to the bookshelf and perused her selection of board games. There weren’t many; she tried to keep as many as possible in her classroom for recess on rainy days --which unfortunately were not scarce in Maine. But she’d recently been gifted a new edition of Scrabble, allowing her to bring her old set home with her. She located it quickly, and began to set it up on the floor in front of the couch, pulling down cushions and some pillows from her bed for sitting on.

 

She was just finishing tending to the hot chocolate when David emerged, dry and wearing the jeans and button-down shirt he’d brought. “Do you have a heating vent?” he asked, holding up his wet shoes. He was making a point of pretending that ‘moment’ hadn’t happened, and she was grateful.

 

“Oh,” she said, pouring two cups of the hot cocoa. She indicated a vent near the couch. “Over there.” She added a stick of cinnamon to each mug.

 

He turned his shoes upside down over the vent. “What’s this?” he asked, frowning at the mountain of cushions and game board.

 

“Well, the storm isn’t letting up anytime soon,” she said and handed him his mug. “I thought we could still salvage this date.”

 

“At least one of us knows what they’re doing,” he smirked, and took a sip of his drink. He frowned. “Cinnamon?”

 

“Oh,” she said as she settled herself down on a pillow, wincing as her ankle twisted a bit uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I forget not everyone likes that. Would you like me to make you another cup?”

 

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, and joined her on the floor. He laid a hand on her injured ankle and rubbed soothing circles with his thumb. “I’ve just never had cinnamon in my chocolate before.” He took another sip. “I like it.”

 

“So, you know Scrabble?”  
  


He laughed. “I’ve played, yes.”

 

Mary Margaret held out the bag of tiles. “Okay, then. Pick your poison. I’ll let you go first.”

 

He selected seven tiles. “Aren’t we supposed to, I don’t know, draw for that or something?”

 

She grinned, and selected her own. “Let’s just say you’ll need all the help you can get.”

 

“I have a feeling I’m going to lose,” he said, considering the tiles he selected. “Okay, here goes.” He laid five of his tiles out across the center of the board.

 

T-A-C-O-S

 

“Tacos.”

 

“Seven points,” she said, recording his score, then hummed as she studied her own selection of tiles. Scrabble had been her favorite game growing up. This very set had been given to her as a gift from Regina’s father when her mother’s cancer was first diagnosed. They’d spent hours playing together while her mother suffered through her treatments. It was a little unfair to force David to play with her; she always won. “Aha,” she grinned, and gathered up the whole lot of her tiles, positioning them off the ‘C’ he’d just placed.

 

C-H-A-R-M-I-N-G

 

“Fifty-seven points,” she said proudly.

 

He gaped. “What the- no way.”

 

She shrugged, offering him an innocent smile. “I warned you.”

 

“I guess you did,” he sighed in mock exasperation, pulling out three of his letters and arranging them around her ‘G’.

 

O-G-R-E

 

She snorted into her mug of hot chocolate. “Ogre?” she asked, holding back laughter. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, playing at being defensive. “Ogres. You know, like ‘fe-fi-fo-fum’?”

 

“Actually,” she said, unable to hold back her laughter anymore, “I’m pretty sure that’s giants.”

 

He joined her in laughter. “Oh.”

 

“Five points.”

 

As the night wore on, their hot chocolate grew cold while the storm pressed further in. They passed the time with laughter as Mary Margaret’s score passed into triple digits, leaving David’s in the dust. He insisted this match-up wasn’t fair - and maybe it really wasn’t - her being a teacher and he only a ‘lowly vet tech’. (She’d chucked a tile at him for that, revealing that she had in her possession the game’s only ‘Q’.)

 

It was unlike any date she’d ever been on; lounging around on her floor like they’d done this a thousand times before. He likely would have appreciated the view that Emma’s dress would have granted him, but somehow this -- this moment of baggy sweaters and shoes drying over the vent -- was more _them_ than any dinner date could ever have been.

 

“Okay,” he said, “I think I’ve got one that will pull me out of this hole.”

 

She laughed. “Really? I’ve got to see this.”

 

He chose three tiles, and stacked them on top of the ‘S’ from the beginning of the game.

 

K-I-S-S

 

She stared at the word for a long moment, before meeting his eyes. He was gazing at her hopefully, his breathing unsteady.  
  


“Is,” she started, then swallowed, then licked her lips, “is that a ... question?”

 

He took a deep breath. “There weren’t any question marks,” he replied quietly.

 

She didn’t need to ask herself what Emma would do.

 

Mary Margaret nodded, just barely, before she leaned toward him across the board, bracing herself on her hands. He met her halfway, kissing her carefully at first, before cupping her face in his hands, fingertips caressing the shell of her ear. Something delicious pulled at her core, and she moved her hand to the back of his neck, angling the kiss.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he breathed, an echo from their moment earlier, but she didn’t let him continue, tugging him back to her for a kiss more heated than the first. She opened her mouth to him, and as he leaned forward to drink her in, he lost his balance, toppling on top of her and sending the game tiles flying.

 

She laughed beneath him, then into him as she drew him down for another kiss, and then with him as he gathered her into his arms.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pushes the T-rating, but I don't think it constitutes an M. That said, please read at your own discretion.

The world turned, not just metaphorically but physically as well, blinking awake to sunshine and shrugging off the night’s storm. Mary Margaret woke with a smile, and stretched like a cat in the light streaming through her window. She was no different than the night before - the mirror still revealing the same closely cropped hair, the same fair complexion - but everything was different all the same.

 

She changed her clothes, hiding an incriminating mark on the hollow of her collarbone with a carefully placed scarf, and emerged from her room, smiling at the mess of cushions and game pieces in the living room.

 

“Oh, really!?”

 

Mary Margaret startled, and turned to find Emma, just home from work, tossing her flowers from last night into the garbage. “Oh, hey wait!” she called after her. “What are you doing?”

 

“If Graham thinks flowers will work on me-” Emma groused, hitting the lid to the trashcan when it didn’t close at first.

 

“No, those,” Mary Margaret sighed, “were mine.”

 

“Oh,” said Emma, ceasing her attack on the trashcan and looking up at her roommate sheepishly. “From David?”

 

Mary Margaret smiled.

 

Emma grinned. “I’ll take that and the scarf as a yes.” Mary Margaret blushed. “So, did you ... ?”

 

Mary Margaret gasped. “Oh, no,” she said, feeling more heat rise to her cheeks. “No, no we didn’t.”

 

“But you did do _something_ ,” Emma pried, and came over to tug at Mary Margaret’s scarf. She examined the little round bruise. “Nice,” she commented appraisingly.

 

Mary Margaret pushed her away, giggling nervously. “Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, we did.” She turned to rescue her flowers from the trashcan, and deemed most of them saveable, even from the combined efforts of the storm and Emma. Pulling down a vase, she asked over her shoulder. “So what did Graham do?”

 

“Well, I can tell you what he wasn’t doing - working at the animal shelter.”

 

Mary Margaret paused for a moment, realizing that she probably could have guessed that much. She filled the vase with water. “Oh,” she said. “What was he doing?”

 

Emma rounded the counter, leaning forward against it on her forearms. “Regina,” she said pointedly.

 

“Oh,” Mary Margaret blinked. “ _Oh_.”

 

Emma frowned. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

 

Mary Margaret gathered up her flowers and arranged them carefully in the vase, pinching off any broken leaves in the process. “Well,” she said carefully, “I know they have _history_ together. But I didn’t think they were-” She shuddered, not really wanting to think about it. “Emma,” she said seriously, meeting her friend’s gaze, “I would have told you if I’d thought they were sleeping together. I know you have feelings for him, and-”

 

“What?” Emma flinched. “I don’t have feelings for anyone. I’m just _pissed_ that he lied to me.” She didn’t seem too sure of that. “And bribed me,” she added. “With a bearclaw.”

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret began, growing even more serious. “I know that you’re trying to protect yourself. You ... you put up this wall, and you don’t let anyone in, because if you don’t, then there’s no-one left to hurt you.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“See,” said Mary Margaret. “There it is.”

 

Emma sighed. “Okay, so maybe I do. Is it really such a bad thing? I don’t get emotional over men. So what?”

 

“You don’t get emotional over men?” Mary Margaret chuckled, and checked to see if the coffee was ready. Thank goodness for timers on coffee pots. “The _floral abuse_ tells a different story.”

 

“And what story is that?” challenged Emma.

 

“The one that’s obvious to everyone but apparently you - that you have feelings for Graham.”

 

“Oh come on,” Emma said, exasperated. “I already told you-”

 

“There’s that wall.”

 

Emma gave her a level look. “There’s nothing wrong with being cautious.”

 

“Oh, I agree,” said Mary Margaret, pouring them each a cup of coffee. “But Emma, that wall of yours - it may keep out pain, but it also may keep out love.” She slid one mug across the counter to her roommate and offered her a caring smile.

 

Emma had nothing to say to that.

 

\--

 

The week passed, and just as Emma’s arrival into Mary Margaret’s life had shaped her routine, so did David’s. She found herself more confident, perhaps just in small ways, but it was a change nonetheless. Inch by inch, she dug further back in her closet, pulling out the less-than-modest clothing and high heels she hadn’t worn in years. David seemed to appreciate the effort, grinning at her over his coffee every morning at Granny’s.

 

And so when Friday came, he turned up at breakfast with a broad smile on his face, insisting he pick her up after school.

 

She agreed. Of course, she agreed.

 

Although, she hadn’t anticipated the blindfold.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously, making a surprised noise as the truck hit an unexpected bump.

 

“You’ll see,” he teased.

 

“Not with this thing over my eyes,” she quipped, indicating the necktie he’d tied across her eyes.

 

He laughed. “Be patient.”

 

The road grew rough, the truck trundling along for several miles before coming to a stop. “We’re here,” he said, and came around to help her out.

 

“So I can take this off now?”

 

“No,” he said, and lifted her easily from the car to set her down on uneven ground. “Not just yet.” His arm wrapped round her waist, holding her tightly. “Careful,” he warned, leading her slowly away from the truck. The icy wind nipped at her cheeks as he led her uphill, supporting her weight when her shoes became impractical for the terrain.

 

“Here we are,” he said, arms encircling her from behind. “Ready?”

 

She nodded, and he carefully untied the blindfold, revealing a romantic picnic set deep in the woods. Every muscle in her body seized, sending her rocking off balance into David’s firm chest. It was a romantic gesture, the sort of thing she read about in her books, but it was too much. Being _here_ was too much.

 

“David,” she said quietly, taking deep, measured breaths. _Inhale. Exhale._ He didn’t know. _Inhale. Exhale._ How could he know? “Are we ... are we near the old toll bridge?”

 

He pulled away, examining her face. “Yeah,” he said, frowning. “Is that ... okay?”

 

She opened her mouth to say ‘no’ because there was nothing _okay_ about this place, not anymore, but she faltered, thinking of her mother, and how she’d told her of the snowdrops that bloom from the harshest of winters. New beginnings; they could take root if only given the chance. “Yeah,” she said meekly, then stirred some confidence from within herself. “Yeah, I was just curious.”

 

David eyed her warily. “Are you sure?”

 

She wasn’t, but she nodded, slipping her hand into his. “Yeah, I’m just a little cold.”

 

He smiled, and raised their hands to kiss her fingertips. “Good thing I brought extra blankets, then.”

 

And so they spent the afternoon cocooned in no less than three blankets, gazing up through the bare trees of the forest while they ate a modest dinner of sandwiches and fruit, taking turns sipping hot soup from a thermos. “Tell me something about yourself,” she said when her anxiety had somewhat subsided. She nestled her face into the crook of his neck, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

 

“What do you want to know?” he replied softly, and pulled the blankets snug around them, the evening chill pressing in.

 

“Those ... scars,” she whispered, “on your chest. How did you get them?”

 

He didn’t reply at first, his breath hitching beneath her hand. “I was in a car crash,” he said quietly.

 

She stiffened, suddenly acutely aware of the beating of his heart, of every sign of life. “Oh?” she said, unsure what else to say.

 

“I don’t remember it,” he said. His voice was distant, but his hand moved up and down her back in long, warm strokes. “That’s ... that’s part of what happened. It happened when Kathryn and I were living in Boston. They say I was on my way home from work when a semi slid on the ice and veered into my lane. Wound up in a ditch, unconscious and ... and I didn’t wake up for three weeks.”

 

She inhaled sharply, pressing her hand flat against his chest, over his heart. “You were in a coma?” she asked, pulling away to meet his eyes.

 

He nodded, pulling her back into the embrace and holding on tightly. “The physical damage was bad,” he said. “But I made a full recovery. My memory, though? Gone. Amnesia. Twenty-seven years I don’t remember.” He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “I don't really know who I was before. I mean, Kathryn would tell me stories, but I just couldn't imagine having lived that life. All I know about it is what she's told me.”

 

“And you still don’t?” she asked, tangling her legs with his. “Remember, I mean.”

 

He shook his head. “No.”

 

She hesitated, fearful that this question might destroy their beautiful evening. “Is that ... is that why you and ... and your wife ... ?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m not the man she married. We tried to make it work, for two years, but,” he sighed, “I just couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t fair to her, holding onto a man who is for all intents and purposes dead. Kathryn ... she’s a really wonderful person, and she deserves better than that.”

 

Mary Margaret felt a pang of some unknown emotion twisting in her gut. “And what if,” she said, barely audible, “what if you remember?”

 

He pulled away at that, lifting her gaze with two fingers placed gently beneath her chin. “I won’t,” he said firmly. “And even if I did, it doesn’t matter. This is who I am now, and that isn’t changing.”

 

She nodded, just barely, and willed back the tears that threatened her.

 

Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then leaned his own against it. “Your turn,” he whispered.

 

“My turn?” The sun was setting now, glowing orange amongst the winter trees.

 

“Tell me something about yourself?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like how someone as wonderful as you is still single?” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

 

She smiled in kind. “Waiting for my very own Prince Charming.”

 

“And when do you think you’ll find him?” he asked, fingertips brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear.

 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I already have.” And she leaned up to close the gap between them, pressing her lips firmly to his.

 

\--

 

“I had a really good time,” said Mary Margaret, leaning against her door.

 

“Me, too,” said David. He reached out to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and then leaned down to kiss her softly, lingering against her.

 

She slid her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and whispered against his lips, “You can come in. If you want.”

 

He took a long, deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah?” He kissed her again, lightly. “Are you sure?”

 

She swallowed and nodded, a combination of nerves and something deeper twisting at her core. She turned the lock and pushed the door open, leading him inside before ensuring that the lock was latched behind them. Her throat ran dry. “My roommate’s working the night shift again,” she said, and let him help her shrug out of her coat.

 

He put away the coats. “Good,” he said immediately, then paused, realizing how that sounded. “I mean-”

 

“No,” she interrupted, smiling shyly and taking him by the hand. “Good is right. Very good, in fact.” She led him to her bedroom, which was more of an alcove than anything else. There were curtains separating it from the rest of the apartment, but they still didn’t do much in the way of privacy. “Sorry that there aren’t, you know, walls,” she said nervously, and pulled the curtains closed behind them. Somehow she’d imagined this moment to be a bit more spontaneous and less ... calculated.

 

Mary Margaret was not a nun, nor was she a saint - and she certainly wasn’t a virgin - but she’d never been the one to initiate before. She felt a bit lost, unsure where to begin. She’d never been so forward before, but then again, David was sparking all kinds of changes within her, and confidence was certainly among them. Especially when he was looking at her like _that_.

 

He caught her by her wrist, pulling her close. “Hey,” he whispered, guiding her arms around his neck. She obliged, grateful for some level of guidance. “C’mere.” He lowered his head, kissing her softly at first, hands settled firmly on her hips. She rose up on her toes to meet him, and moaned as he deepened the kiss, hand sliding beneath her sweater at the small of her back to support her as he drank her in.

 

“David,” she murmured, just a breath of a sound against his lips. She pulled herself further up against him until he finally got the hint and lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. Her shoes clattered to the floor. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

 

He caught her lower lip between both of his, and then between his teeth, eliciting from her a low groan. He breathed her name against her skin as his lips worked their way down the column of her throat, pausing and lingering in the places he’d already learned to be pleasurable, then pulled her hips in closer to his, letting out a soft moan.

 

She felt the heat building in her core, pulsing with every touch of his skin against hers. “Ah,” she breathed, a tingling sensation shooting to the base of her spine as he closed his mouth over the bruise on her clavicle.

 

He moved over to the bed, setting her down gently on the edge, then pulled away to consider her, eyes dark with hunger.

 

It was her turn now, and she took her time working at the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers trembled, not with the girlish nervousness of moments before, but rather with anticipation of the moments to come. She pushed the fabric off his shoulders, then slowly lifted his undershirt, urging him to take it off, as she spread her hands across his bare torso.

 

The scars weren’t subtle, weren’t any less shocking when seen a second time. She felt his whole body shudder as she traced the surgical incision with the pad of her thumb, then felt his intake of breath as she pressed her lips to the rough skin, making a slow journey from one end to the other. Moving from one jagged seam to another, she memorized him, learned every detail of these scars that marked the beginning of him, of David. His hand moved to weave through her hair, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were full of something too delicate to name.

 

She pulled at the waistband of his jeans. “These need to come off,” she told him, voice rough with need.

 

He took a moment to step out of his shoes and socks, then to pull his pants and underwear down in one quick movement. He joined her in bed, lying lengthwise on top of the covers, and kissed her softly, hand settled on her hip. “You’re still dressed,” he noted huskily, hand slipping just beneath her sweater. “This hardly seems fair.”

 

Her heart was pounding, anticipation building to the point she felt she would burst. “Then do something about it,” she said, voice trembling.

 

Her breath caught as he pushed up her sweater, and then closed her eyes as he paused.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he gasped, fingers trailing the length of a long surgical scar running the length of her stomach, flanked on both sides by smaller markings. “What-?”

 

“Car accident,” she replied softly, then opened her eyes, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “My sixteenth birthday.”

 

He took a deep breath and for a split second she feared his reaction. And then he was moving, pushing her sweater up further as he ducked his head, placing a row of neat kisses along the incision. She waited, fingers carding through his hair, for him to ask more, but he didn’t. He paused, gazing up at her reverently, cheek still pressed against her skin. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He moved, coming face to face with her as he finally tugged the sweater over her head. “It means,” he said, forehead pressed against hers, “that we’re a matching set.”

 

She laughed then, and kissed him, hand against his cheek as her mirth spilled into him. He laughed too, her happiness contagious, and fumbled with the rest of her clothes, fingertips tracing newly bared skin in their wake. His mouth soon followed, her head was spinning as he found new exciting places for his tongue to explore, sending her to dizzying heights again and again.

 

He finally came back to her, lying lengthwise with her once more, faces close as they both fought to regain their breath. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, and brushed her hair from her eyes.

 

She didn’t blush, the demand for blood far greater _elsewhere_ , but she smiled, and closed her mouth over his, their bodies pressed tightly together. He pulled away, hand settled against her hip as his eyes asked the silent question. She nodded, just barely, the need within her outweighing any reservations she may have had. She moved her leg up over his hip, and he pressed into her, muffling a low, guttural noise into her shoulder.

 

They moved slowly at first, rocking gently against one another while they built their rhythm. It had been a long time for Mary Margaret - too long - and she found she couldn’t get enough of him. She fell backwards, pulling him on top of herself as she urged him along, needing to feel just a little more with each thrust. He obliged, until finally he came, shuddering against her, and she followed, cradling his body against hers.

 

Moments passed, and her chest heaved beneath him, struggling for breath. “David,” she whispered, fingertips stroking the side of his face. He understood, and moved, making a small, regretful noise as he slipped away from her. She sat up for a moment and pulled the quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped them both up in it, settling happily into his embrace. She listened as his heartbeat slowed beneath her ear, and felt the rise and fall of his chest level out beneath her palm.

 

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

 

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly. Her fingers traced the pink line on his shoulder.

 

He dipped his head to place the next kiss against her forehead. “Wow.”

 

She laughed, and felt the rumble in his chest as he joined her. “Very articulate of you.”

 

His arms folded around her, pulling her so she was draped across his body. She settled with her chin propped against his chest, gazing at him expectantly. “I’m thinking,” he said, moving the hair from her eyes, “about how lucky I am.”

 

“Yeah?” She moved again, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of him. He smiled up at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Me too,” she said, bending to press a lingering kiss to his lips, and then another as his fingertips traced the length of her spine.

 

And then another as he whispered her name against her mouth.

 

And then another.


	8. Chapter Seven

Something about falling in love - _love?_ so soon - had Mary Margaret a bit addicted. David had left early, insisting that he be gone before her roommate returned, and so she curled up on the couch with a cup of her favorite tea and her book of fairytales, wondering if ‘happily ever after’ was in her future as well. The door clattered open, and she smiled over her tea to watch as Emma trudged inside, ready for bed and cursing Graham and his bearclaws under her breath. With a dramatic sigh, she collapsed onto the couch beside Mary Margaret.

 

“Long night?” asked Mary Margaret, and silently offered her mug.

 

Emma waved her off. “You have no idea. This town may be relatively quiet, but a police force of two just doesn’t cut it.”

 

“Then why don’t you ask Graham to hire some more help?”

 

Emma groaned. “Need room in the budget first. And somehow I don’t see Regina approving that. Took long enough for him to get a deputy at all.” She paused, taking a long look at her friend. “What’s up with you?” she asked suspiciously.

 

“Up with me?” Mary Margaret replied innocently. “Nothing’s ‘up’.”

 

“Yes, there is. You’re glowing.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Yes,” Emma insisted. “You are. Now spill.”

 

“Maybe I’m just happy?” Mary Margaret suggested.

 

“Not this happy.” Emma gasped. “Oh my god, did you and David ... ?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret lied, but she couldn’t help a smile.

 

Emma nodded approvingly. “About damn time.”

 

Mary Margaret blushed, then cleared her throat, trying her best to divert the conversation. “If you’re so tired, why aren’t you in bed already?”

 

Emma sighed, her exhaustion evident as she slumped over. “Meeting Henry in a bit. I’ve only really got time for a shower and some breakfast.”

 

“On a Saturday? Does Regina know about this?”

 

“No,” Emma admitted. “She’s got some sort of event all day. And no, this one does not include Graham. Thank god.”

 

Mary Margaret laughed, then realized that might not have been the appropriate response. No, definitely not if she were to judge by the stunned look on Emma’s face. “Sorry,” she said meekly, and then dug carefully deeper. “Does this mean ... well, are you admitting that you have feelings for him?”

 

“No,” Emma said in a way that meant ‘definitely, yes’.

 

But Mary Margaret let it slide.

 

It was Emma’s turn to divert the conversation. “What’s this?” she asked, tugging at Mary Margaret’s book.

 

“Oh,” she replied. “Just an old book of fairytales. I’ve had it since I was a little girl.”

 

Emma grinned. “Somehow you reading fairytales doesn’t surprise me.”

 

Mary Margaret laughed and nudged Emma with her elbow. “Hush you,” she said, running her fingertips across the worn pages. “These stories are special. They’re the classics.”

 

“Uh huh,” Emma hummed, seeming to zone out for a moment.

 

“You know,” said Mary Margaret, gazing fondly at the book. “Even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

 

Emma shook herself. “Well, if everyone had your level of optimism, the world would be a very different place.”

 

Mary Margaret paused, considering that statement for a moment. Perhaps it was unrealistic to think everyone could share her outlook, but she knew one little boy who needed some magic and optimism in his life. She closed the book and moved it to Emma’s lap. “Here,” she said.

 

Emma frowned. “Umm, sorry to break it to you, but I’m a little old for fairytales.”

 

Mary Margaret thought otherwise, but didn’t push it. “Not for you,” she said. “For Henry. I think you should give it to him.”

 

“Yeah?” Emma opened the book carefully and flipped through the pages.

 

Mary Margaret nodded. “I think he’ll enjoy it.”

 

Her cell phone rang, and she quickly jumped off the couch to answer it, grinning foolishly as David’s voice came on the line.

 

\--

 

They were having dinner again, much to Mary Margaret’s delight. Not two hours after David had left her apartment did he call her, asking if she had any plans for the evening. Of course she didn’t, and of course she’d love his company. Her place at six? Of course.

 

Of course.

 

Now what to cook?

 

That was her dilemma as she perused the produce section, looking for inspiration. She spotted some un-seasonally fresh looking tomatoes and decided that spaghetti was easy enough, and would keep well as leftovers for the remainder of the week. She was just making her way to the pasta aisle when she spotted a familiar leather jacket making its way through the bakery. “Graham?”

 

Graham turned. “Mary Margaret? Haven’t seen you in a while.” He was a handsome man - two parts Irish accent and one part scruff. If Emma had a type, she was pretty sure this would be it.

 

“We must keep missing each other.”

 

“Must be,” he agreed. He gave her an odd look. “You look well.”

 

Was she really _that_ obvious? “Oh, really?” she replied, feigning ignorance. “Thank you.”

 

Graham hesitated. “How is Emma?”

 

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Well enough,” she said cryptically. “How’s Regina?”

 

He flinched. “Mary Margaret-”

 

She held up her hand, cutting him off. “You know what? It’s none of my business what you do with Regina. I’m sorry.”

 

“I know it’s probably ... awkward for you,” he explained carefully. “After we-”

 

Oh. _Oh._ That’s what he was referring to. “No!” she said, quickly cutting him off again. “No no, that’s in the past. No ... hard feelings.”

 

“Oh,” he breathed, clearly relieved. “I just thought -”

 

“It’s Emma,” she blurted, desperate to redirect this conversation.

 

He frowned. “Emma?”

 

“Please,” she said, knowing that Emma would berate her for this later, “be careful with her. She ... it takes a lot for her to open up to people. But she has. With you. She may seem tough - and she is - but once she’s let those walls down ...” she sighed. “If you hurt her now, she’ll lock you out for good.” And worse, she thought grimly, she’d never let those walls down for anyone else ever again.

 

“I’m not trying to hurt her,” he replied quietly.

 

“I never said you were,” said Mary Margaret gently. She placed a hand on his arm. “Emma’s had a hard life, harder than you know. Harder than I know. I’m just looking out for her.”

 

Graham tried to break the tension, grinning a little. “How maternal of you.”

 

She shoved him jokingly. “Oh, hush,” she teased, then turned serious again. “If you want to be with Emma, you should go for it. You don’t owe Regina anything.”

 

He didn’t seem to believe that.

 

“You have a right to be happy, and I don’t know if you have that with Regina.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“You’re meeting her in secret,” she said. “I know you, Graham. If you were really happy, you’d have told _someone_. Told me.” She squeezed his arm. “You deserve to be happy, Graham. Whether it’s with Regina or Emma or whoever. Be happy.”

 

And perhaps she was speaking more to herself than Graham at that point. For so long she had denied herself happiness, sabotaged herself at every turn because she felt like she didn’t deserve it. No more, she thought. And maybe Graham was different; she couldn’t be sure. But she was positive that he wasn’t happy with Regina. Not really.

 

“Thanks,” he murmured, then cleared his throat. He excused himself quickly, and Mary Margaret sighed, wondering if any of them would truly be happy again.

 

\--

 

_Cold. It’s so cold and she doesn’t think she can move. Her face is wet. It must be snowing._

 

“ _Are you okay?”_

 

_She blinks her eyes open, slowly. Very slowly. He’s standing there, a young man maybe a few years her elder. His accent is thick. Scottish? No, Irish. His face is covered in a thick layer of stubble._

 

“ _Are you okay?”_

 

_She groans in response._

 

“ _Good, good,” he says, but his eyes say that there is nothing ‘good’ about anything. “Can you tell me your name?”_

 

_She licks her lips; they’re cold and chapped. “Mary Margaret,” she mumbles, the words slurred by the cold. So cold._

 

“ _You’re going to be all right, Mary,” he says reassuringly. “My name is Graham.”_

 

“ _It‘s ‘Mary Margaret’ not ‘Mary’,” she insists, her voice gaining strength._

 

“ _Mary Margaret,” he amends. “You’ve been in a car accident. There’s an ambulance on its way.”_

 

_She blinks once, then twice, then the world startles into sharp focus around her. “A car-?” she breathes. “No, no, the other driver. Are they-?”_

 

“ _That would be me,” he says. “I’m fine. You didn’t hit me.” He seems nervous, and everything is sort of ... slanted._

 

“ _What about Regina?” she asks desperately. “And Daniel? Are they okay?” The rearview mirror is broken, but she can see Daniel’s cracked reflection. He’s in the backseat, unmoving. His chest rises and falls slowly. And blood ... there’s so much blood. “Ohmygod.” It takes her a moment to realize that Regina isn’t there at all. “Ohmygod ohmygod.”_

 

_Graham draws her attention again, hands on either side of her face to force her to look at him. “We need to get you out of here, okay?” When he pulls away his hands are red with blood._

 

_She tries to move and she gasps. The seatbelt is jammed, and when she pulls against it she’s brought back by crippling pain. When she looks down she finds large shards of glass and a sharp hunk of metal sunk into her abdomen. There’s blood pooling in her lap. “Oh my god.” She breathes fast, too fast, until she feels she can’t breathe at all._

 

_Graham takes her by the shoulders, giving her instructions that she can’t quite hear in her panic._

 

_The car shifts._

 

 

_He pulls something from his pocket, and after a few moments of sawing, he manages to free her from the seatbelt. “Okay, Mary Margaret,” he says, sounding very afraid. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay? But I want you to keep talking to me; let me know you’re okay, yeah?”_

 

_She nods uncertainly._

 

“ _Talk to me,” he says, trying to clear the remains of the shattered glass around the window._

 

“ _What should I say?”_

 

“ _Tell me about yourself. Your family.”_

 

“ _I‘m sixteen,” she says._

 

“ _What about your mom?” he asks, leaning in through the window._

 

“ _She’s dead,” replies Mary Margaret. “Daddy really misses her though.”_

 

“ _I’m sure he does. Tell me about him.”_

 

_He slips his hands under her arms and lifts her, dragging her through the broken window. It hurts, hurts so much that the cold is doing nothing to numb the pain, and she hisses as he drags her body across the splintered glass. “He’s the mayor.”_

 

_She’s out of the car now, sprawled out on the ground. Graham clambers to his feet beside her. “Put your arms round my neck,” he instructs._

 

_She obeys, and he lifts her easily into his arms. “He’s so sad without her.” Everything hurts._

 

_Graham walks steadily up the hill._

 

_Mary Margaret catches sight of a huddled mass leaning against a tree. There’s blood. A lot of blood._

 

_A groan and screech of metal and earth; behind them, the car shifts._

 

\--

 

She woke to David’s concerned face, staring down at her with a hint of fear in his eyes. His hands were on her shoulders, and he was mid-shake when he finally realized she was awake. “Mary Margaret,” he breathed, relief evident in his voice. “Are you okay?”

 

_Are you okay?_

 

_Yeah_. “Yeah,” she whispered, struggling to catch her breath.

 

There was a rumbling from the stairs, and footsteps, and then- “Mary Margaret! Are you-”

 

David startled.

 

Emma stopped midway in pulling back the curtain to the bedroom alcove.

 

The terror of the nightmare falling away, Mary Margaret realized that she hadn’t actually _told_ her roommate that David would be staying the night. It wasn’t quite proper manners, but at the time she’d had much more ... _pressing_ issues to be concerned with.

 

“You must be David,” said Emma, cupping her hand over her eyes as she averted her gaze.

 

Mary Margaret breathed - _inhale; exhale_ \- glad that for the moment their attention was elsewhere.

 

“You must be Emma.”

 

It was only then that Mary Margaret realized that David’s hand was pressed flat against her chest, holding up the sheet to cover her. She quickly pulled the fabric higher, covering herself more fully.

 

Emma was still focused steadily on a blank patch of wall. “Mary Margaret, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” replied Mary Margaret, blushing scarlet. Oddly enough, her embarrassment was helping to mask the lingering presence of the dream. “I’m fine. I’m sorry about ...” she trailed off, gazing uneasily at David, whose concern seemed to overshadow any embarrassment.

 

Emma shook herself. “No, no,” she said hastily. “Nothing to apologize about.” She hesitated a moment, rocking back and forth. “So you had another nightmare?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret replied, too eagerly.

 

“Another?” David frowned. “You have these nightmares often?”

 

“No,” said Mary Margaret.

  
“Yes,” said Emma, at the same time.

 

Mary Margaret cast her roommate a pointed look, not that she’d see it while staring intently at the floorboards.

 

“She had one - what? - two weeks ago.”

 

“That doesn’t exactly make it a recurring thing.”

 

“Well,” Emma said, momentarily courageous enough to meet her eyes, “it definitely means that it wasn’t the pain meds last time.” She glanced to David next. “I’m going back to bed. Can you handle this?”

 

David nodded sheepishly. “I’ll handle it.”

 

“I’ll see you two in the morning.”

 

They were quiet as they listened to Emma’s footsteps retreating upstairs, and quiet still as the glow of her lamp disappeared. Mary Margaret breathed, closed her eyes, breathed again. _Inhale; exhale._

 

“What was that about?”

 

She opened her eyes and gazed over at David, who was looking at her with such concern she swore her heart would melt. “What was what about?”

 

“That was not a normal nightmare,” he said, fingertips stroking her cheek. “You were screaming. And crying. It took me a solid minute to wake you up.”

 

“It was nothing,” she insisted, turning on her side to curl into him. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“It was not nothing,” he replied firmly, and propped himself up on his arm to look at her. “You kept screaming ‘help him, help him’.”

 

She flinched.

 

“What was it about?” he asked, his voice more tender this time. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

 

“I don’t remember,” she lied.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he whispered, fingers weaving through her hair, “please don’t shut me out.”

 

She didn’t want to. She _really_ didn’t want to. If there was anyone in this world that would understand, who she could trust to spare her the canned responses of ‘it was an accident’ or ‘there was nothing you could have done’, it was David. After only a couple weeks, he knew her - _her_ , the Mary Margaret the rest of the world ignored - better than anyone. She wouldn’t shut him out; couldn’t shut him out for very long. When she spoke, her voice was high and thin; vulnerable. “I just can’t talk about it.” She swallowed. “Maybe someday.”

 

He leaned down to kiss her, and she met him tearfully, fingers stroking the back of the neck. She cried as he folded her in his arms; as she cradled him between her thighs, his lips brushing away the tears. And finally she breathed as his heartbeat murmured against her ear.

 

_Inhale; exhale._


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of severe depression and suicidal thoughts.

Days passed, then weeks, and yet the vividness of Mary Margaret’s dreams still haunted her subconscious. David’s presence seemed to soothe them, the even rise and fall of his chest comforting her even as she woke with a gasp, hair sticky with sweat. Even in sleep, he’d fold her into his arms, protecting her from danger. And yet, the nightmares never truly stopped.

 

So Friday afternoon, once she’d released her students for winter break, she bundled up in her warmest hat and scarf, made her way to the local florist for a bunch of their healthiest-looking flowers, and set off for the long walk to the cemetery. Before, in the days prior to Emma and David stumbling into her life, she’d come here often to lay flowers on her parents’ graves. Somehow, though, her friends had finally pulled her from the past, shown her that it was okay to live for herself.

 

The wind licked at her cheeks, leaving them cold as she made her way through town, then numb as she passed through the cemetery gates.

 

She stopped for her parents first, silent, and carefully arranged a single flower beneath each of their names. It seemed they didn’t begrudge her absence at all.

 

But she hadn’t come for them.

 

She made her way further into the cemetery, the remaining flowers tucked in the crook of her arm as she hugged herself to keep warm. They were to expect snow later that evening, not expecting it to stop for a day. They’d have a white Christmas this year.

 

At last, she arrived at her destination, smiling sadly at the humble grave marker. “Hey, Daniel,” she said softly, and bent to arrange the flowers. “I know I haven’t been here in a while.”

 

Silence.

 

“I have a boyfriend now,” she smiled. “Sort of, I guess. You’re probably laughing right now but I swear to god it’s true.” She pulled her coat more tightly around herself, rocking back and forth on her toes to keep warm. “I think you’d like him. He’s sort of like my knight in shining armor, rescuing me from … well, myself mostly. He works down at the animal shelter and he’s really sweet and … and I think he really likes me.”

 

Only the wind replied.

 

“He’s not bothered by the -- the scars either,” she added, voice softening. “I know mine aren’t as bad as-” she swallowed, her voice suddenly thick. “I think I love him, Daniel.” She smiled again, but she could already feel the tears welling in her eyes. “I think he might be it for me.”

 

Leaves crunched beneath her as she sank to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

 

“And then there’s Emma,” she said. “You’d like her too. She's loud and brash and has no filter at all between her brain and her mouth. She actually got drunk once and tore my toaster apart just because she was annoyed. Regina hates her.” She laughed, wiping away a tear. “It’s kind of funny how - after everything - Regina is still the reason I meet my friends. She’s Henry’s biological mom, but I bet Regina’s already told you that.”

 

She grew silent for a moment, gazing at the date engraved on the stone - her sixteenth birthday. “I wish you were here, Daniel,” she admitted softly. “To tell me what to do. You always seemed to know what to say, especially when Regina and I were fighting.” She sniffled back the tears, trying to stay strong even as her voice broke. “You were the one who taught me how to drive, and … and picked me up when my homecoming date ditched me. You made me feel like part of a family again.”

 

No response as her tears began to flow freely, and she wiped at her nose with the edge of her sleeve.

 

“I wish it had been me, you know,” she said, crying and unable to stop. “I’ve prayed for years and years that we could switch places. So Regina could have you back; so she’d be happy again. No-one would have missed me; not really. My mother was gone and my father might as well have been, and _she_ would have wanted you.” She lowered her voice, whispering the confession. “It should have been me.”

 

She was quiet for a long moment, waiting for a response as she tried to pull herself together, waiting for some validation. _Why her?_ Twelve years she’d wondered why an insignificant _child_ had been pulled from that wreck instead of a husband- and father-to-be. It just wasn’t _fair_.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

There were footsteps approaching, and she scrambled to her feet, turning to find Regina standing behind her, a rose dangling from her fingers. “Regina,” she said, rubbing ineffectively at her eyes. Her face was surely red and blotchy, but part of her naively hoped that Regina would think it was from the cold.

 

“Mary Margaret,” Regina replied, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I … I’m surprised to see you here.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Mary Margaret quickly, gathering up her purse. “I’ll … I’ll get out of your way.”

 

“No, don’t.” Regina sighed, then stooped to place her rose amongst Mary Margaret’s flowers. “He was your friend too. You have every right to be here.”

 

Mary Margaret hesitated, torn between running away as fast as she could and staying, because Regina hadn’t called her by her given name in over ten years. That is, until now. “I … really should be going,” she insisted, shifting her weight from side to side, on edge. “I’m meeting Emma to finish Christmas shopping.”

 

“Oh,” said Regina. “Miss Swan.”

 

Mary Margaret stilled, biting her lip. It was a bold move, but standing here at Daniel’s grave, her heart bared in pieces on the ground, she really had nothing left to lose; her relationship with Regina could hardly get any worse. “Emma,” she corrected, surprised in how sure she sounded. “You should call her Emma.”

 

Regina arched an eyebrow in her direction. Her voice wasn’t so soft this time. “Oh? And why is that?”

 

Mary Margaret swallowed her reservations. “Because she’s Henry’s mother.” Regina opened her mouth, ready to protest that claim, quite angrily, but Mary Margaret raised her hand, cutting her off. “His biological mother. And you can’t pretend he hasn’t been happier since she’s been here.”

 

Regina’s voice was low. “I’m his mother.”

 

“I know,” Mary Margaret replied, holding her chin high. “And that’s what I told Emma.”

 

“You what?” Regina frowned.

 

Mary Margaret nodded. “I told Emma that you’re Henry’s mother, and so is she. But you’re his _mom_. She respects that.”

 

Regina looked unconvinced. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

 

“I am.” Mary Margaret sighed, eyes downcast for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “You should really give Emma a chance,” she said finally. “Henry loves you, and he knows that you love him more than anything, but … sometimes that isn’t enough.” She finally met Regina’s eyes, searching there for the friend she’d lost so very long ago. “By rejecting Emma, he feels like you’re rejecting part of him, too.”

 

Regina stared at her, stunned.

 

“Please,” said Mary Margaret, briefly placing a hand on the other woman’s arm. “Just give her a chance.”

 

And with that, she made her way out of the cemetery, and back downtown, hugging herself for warmth. Her cheeks were frozen and chapped from crying, and only when she passed the clocktower did the first snowflakes of the evening begin to fall.

 

Only then did her tears begin to fall.

 

\--

 

She’d meant to go home, but instead, Mary Margaret found herself running - _running?_ \- toward the animal shelter. The cold air stung her lungs, and she was already falling over herself by the time she stumbled into David’s arms, just outside the shelter as he was locking up for the night.

 

“Whoa!” he yelped as he caught her, and steadied her on her feet “Mary Margaret, what’s wrong?”

 

She clung to him, whimpering softly into his chest, and shook her head, unable to say.

 

His warm hand cupped her cheek. “Jesus,” he whispered, rubbing at her icy skin. “You’re freezing. What happened?”

 

“Please,” she whispered, pulling herself closer. She swallowed thickly. “I just … need to talk.”

 

And so as the snow fell, he bundled her up, his coat over hers, and guided her into the passenger seat of his truck with the heater on full blast. She curled into him silently, sliding over on the bench seat to tuck herself against his side.

 

They spent the ride to his apartment in silence. Mary Margaret felt David shivering against her, his truck’s faulty heater unable to compensate for his lack of jacket.

 

In all their nights spent together (which amounted to three or four a week), they’d only ever stayed at his apartment a handful of times. It was unfortunate, considering his bedroom had four walls and hers did not, but while Emma coped with an iPod and noise canceling headphones, Leroy coped by blasting Marvin Gaye as loud as his stereo would allow.

 

David ushered her inside, tucking her purse under one arm and Mary Margaret herself beneath the other. “Leroy’s got the night shift,” he told her as he unlocked the door. “I just thought - Emma …”

 

“No, no,” she said, finally having managed to calm herself. “This is - great. Thank you.”

 

Within five minutes, she was tucked into his bed, sitting up against the headboard, and sipping on a steaming mug of peppermint tea. David sat beside her, one hand settled warmly against her knee as he waited patiently for her to explain.

 

She breathed in the steam from her tea, gathering her thoughts, then finally met his eyes. “I … I was at the cemetery,” she said.

 

He squeezed her leg. “Were you … your parents?”

 

She shook her head. “No, well … yes, I stopped there, but that isn’t -” she choked.

 

He carefully slipped the tea from her grip and set it on the nightstand. His hands enveloped hers, parting only long enough for him to press a delicate kiss to her fingertips. “It’s okay,” he said gently, “if you don’t want to tell me.”

 

And then it happened. She wasn’t sure what came first - the explanation or the tears - but she found herself curled up in his lap, a blubbering mess as she told him everything: her mother’s death, Regina, Daniel, the crash. The wind and the ice and the blood and glass. “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed finally, her face pressed into his neck. His hand had slid beneath her sweater, pressing firmly against the incision from where they’d stopped the bleeding, from where they’d pulled out her damaged spleen along with shards of glass and metal.

 

“No,” he said firmly, and drew her gaze to his with a hand beneath her chin. “Nothing was your fault, do you understand me?”

 

“But Daniel’s dead,” she admitted, completely broken. “And it should have been me.”

 

“No!” She flinched away from him, startled by his outburst, but then her face was cradled in his hands, and she was heartbroken to realize that he was crying now too. “No,” he whispered. “Please, Mary Margaret, don’t ever say that again. I … I can’t-” He breathed, deep, shuddering breaths that she felt in the way his body trembled against hers. “I can’t imagine life without you now. Mary Margaret, I-” he sighed then, as if choosing to say something else. “Please, just … don’t.”

 

He kissed her, tasting of tears and peppermint. She responded in kind, pulling her body flush against his, needing desperately to feel close to him, and fell back against the pillows with him, mouth still pressed to his. He tugged at her sweater, pulling it over her head so he could lower his mouth to her skin, tracing every line with his lips and tongue as if to heal them over again, to close the invisible wounds time had left behind.

 

Later, breathing hard and physically spent, she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, felt it pulsing beneath her hand.

 

“Mary Margaret?” he whispered, when his breathing had finally calmed, and dropped a kiss against her forehead.

 

“Hm?” she replied drowsily, lulled by his warmth.

 

“Look at me,” he implored, guiding her with a hand against her cheek.

 

There were still the tracks of fresh tears on his face, and she reached up to smooth them away with the pad of her thumb.

 

“What you were saying earlier,” he said, voice trembling, “please don’t say that again, okay? I know it -- it’s hard. Trust me, I know, but--” He paused, taking a moment to comb his fingers through her hair. “When I had my accident, Kathryn - she held onto hope that things would be okay again.”

 

Mary Margaret stiffened in his arms - your boyfriend mentioning his ex-wife in bed was not typically a good sign - but before she could say anything, he’d pressed his fingertips to her lips.

 

“I kept thinking that maybe - maybe if I’d died, it would be easier for her to let go.”

 

That thought alone sent a rush of dread to the pit of her stomach. “Don’t-”

 

He cut her off with a kiss. “See? Don’t say that anyone would be better off with you dead,” he said firmly. “The world is a better place with you in it. _My_ world is a better place with you in it.” He kissed her again, lips moving slowly against hers as his hand cradled the back of her neck. “I love you, Mary Margaret.”

 

Her breath caught in her throat. The words themselves didn’t surprise her so much as the tenderness in his voice, the silent fear of rejection in his eyes as he waited for her response, his thumb delicately tracing the curve of her ear.

 

“I love you too,” she whispered in reply, and pulled him to her, intent on showing him exactly how much.

 

\--

 

Christmas Eve came, and the ground was blanketed in snow as David hauled a sad-looking tree up the steps to the apartment Mary Margaret and Emma shared. Mary Margaret greeted him at the door, dusting the pine needles and snow off his shoulders as she kissed him. “I told you we didn’t need a real tree,” she laughed, taking stock of the bare branches.

 

He shrugged as he dragged it inside. “The boy scouts were pouting at me,” he explained, and set the tree up in the corner.

 

“My hero,” Mary Margaret laughed, bending down to hug him from behind as he worked.

 

Emma came clambering down the stairs a moment later. “Was that the pizza?” She paused, disappointed, upon seeing David tinkering with the tree in the corner of the living room. “Oh, it’s just you.” She moved to the kitchen instead, pulling down three wine glasses.

 

“Good to see you too, Emma,” David deadpanned.

 

Mary Margaret laughed, releasing her boyfriend. “I still don’t know why you two insisted on pizza for Christmas Eve dinner.” She wrinkled her nose.

 

“Because,” Emma replied, dodging a renegade can of whipped cream when she opened the refrigerator to retrieve the wine, “I don’t think our fridge could handle another ‘Holiday Meal by Mary Margaret’.” She set aside the wine and set about retrieving the various items that had spilled out. “You do realize it’s just the three of us, right?”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged, joining her in the kitchen. “I figured we’d have leftovers?” She poured them each a half glass of wine.

 

Emma retrieved her glass and took a long sip. “For what? The next six months?”

 

Mary Margaret cast her a mock glare as she brought David’s glass to him, trading it for a kiss. A year ago, she’d spent Christmas Eve alone, watching the snow fall from her window alone, her only company a bottle of wine and the familiar dialogue of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ droning from the television. Now, her drafty loft apartment seemed almost too small - a sparse tree and a modest pile of gifts tucked in the corner - as she spent the evening bickering with the two most important people in her life.

 

There was a knock at the door, and Emma immediately perked up. “Pizza!” She quickly set about locating plates and napkins.

 

“I’ll get it,” Mary Margaret assured her, but when she opened the door, she found Regina Mills instead.

 

“Regina?”

 

“Merry Christmas, Mary Margaret,” Regina greeted her with a hint of a smile.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Emma came rushing over a second later. “Is Henry okay?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Regina assured them. “Henry’s fine. I was just--” she paused, twisting her gloves in her hands. “Miss Swan - Emma - I was wondering if you’d like to join Henry and me for dinner tonight.” She cast a meaningful glance in Mary Margaret’s direction.

 

Emma gaped.

 

“Well?”

 

“I-” Emma stuttered. “Yes. _Yes._ Just give me a minute to--” she glanced down at her cruddy sweats, and Mary Margaret remembered that Henry’s present was still half-wrapped on the counter (Emma had needed some … help).

 

“Take your time,” said Regina. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

 

“I won’t be long,” Emma replied quickly, then raced upstairs to change.

 

Regina lingered, even after Emma had left. David cursed behind them, struggling to right their miserable-looking tree. Regina was about to turn and leave when Mary Margaret blurted, “Thank you.”

 

Regina frowned. “For what?”

 

“You know,” said Mary Margaret pointedly. “I know you didn’t have to, but you did.”  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Regina replied airily, then turned to leave. “Merry Christmas,” she said again, offering the younger woman a small smile over her shoulder.

 

Mary Margaret smiled back. “Merry Christmas, Regina.”

 

Mary Margaret closed the door and turned to find David appraising his work on the tree (it was crooked and half-leaning against the wall, but it would do). “Looks good,” she said, grinning at him.

 

“Good enough,” he agreed, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans before coming over to settle them on her waist. “Are you okay?” he asked, softly this time. “I heard Regina-”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head, leaning closer and resting her hands against his chest. “It’s fine,” she promised him. “It was - good.”

 

He smiled.

 

Emma cleared her throat behind them. “I’m not gone yet, you know,” she teased, then considered the half-wrapped present, before stuffing it along with a roll of tape into her bag. “Plus it’s Christmas. Don’t you need mistletoe or something?”

 

“We like to use our imaginations,” Mary Margaret replied, then realized as her friends laughed that not everyone had the innocent mind of a schoolteacher. She pulled away from David so that he could retrieve Emma’s coat and help her into it.

 

Emma faltered, halfway out the door. “Oh, shoot,” she said, turning to face them. “I didn’t even think - is this okay?”

 

Mary Margaret frowned. “Is what okay?”

 

“This,” Emma replied. “Me leaving. We had plans. I could call Regina and--”

 

“Oh, stop,” said Mary Margaret, cutting her off. “Why would I want to stop my best friend from spending Christmas with her son, while simultaneously giving me alone time with my boyfriend?”

 

Emma stared for a moment. “... point taken.”

 

David wrapped an arm around Mary Margaret’s waist. “Go on,” he said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“We’ll wait for you to do presents,” added Mary Margaret. “Give Henry a hug for me.”

 

Emma smiled, that genuine smile Mary Margaret attributed to her walls coming down. “Merry Christmas,” she said, wrapping her roommate in a warm hug before racing to her car.

 

Later, Mary Margaret woke to the soft glow of the television and the crackling sounds of the third airing of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , gazing blearily at the half-eaten pizza and empty wine bottle on the table, the soft fall of snow outside the windows.

 

“Mm,” David sighed sleepily, folding her more tightly in his arms, reminding her she wasn’t alone in the dark.

 

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered, curling into his embrace and letting his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

 

… _you've really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending quote is, of course, from the movie "It's a Wonderful Life."


	10. Interlude: David

_To say he’s nervous would be an understatement. They’ve spent the better part of a year planning this single moment, and she’s never going to let him hear the end of it if he screws it up._

 

_So he takes a deep breath, fixes his cufflinks, and takes his second shot of the afternoon, because - good god - one was definitely not enough. They say this is the biggest day of your life, the most important, but he thinks that’s sort of silly when you’ve lived together for three years. This is just a formality to him; he’d made his choice a long time ago, and he doesn’t regret a single day._

 

“ _Ready?”_

 

_He glances over to see his mother standing in the doorway, a vision in blue._

 

“ _Do I really look that nervous?” he asks, smiling uncertainly._

 

_She smiles lovingly at him, cradling his face in her hands. Your father would be so proud of you.”_

 

“ _Yeah?” he says softly._

 

“ _Yes,” she replies. “Though I think he’d agree with me. You should give her my ring.”_

 

“ _Mother …” David sighs. “That ring is yours. From Dad. I can’t take it from you.”_

 

“ _True love follows this ring, my boy,” she tells him, in that exasperated tone she’s reserved just for him his whole life, waving the ring in front of his face - a glint of green and silver._

 

_He grins. “Looks like I didn’t need its help, though.”_

 

_David embraces his mother, pressing his nose into her hair. “Love you,” he whispers, and wonders briefly if this is how his father felt on their wedding day._

 

_Ten minutes later, he’s at the altar, suddenly regretting having forgone selecting any groomsmen. He understands now that it isn’t about camaraderie or brotherhood, but rather about having someone to break your fall when you pass out._

 

_His mother smiles at him; she’s already crying._

 

_The music begins to play. The crowd stands. Yep, he’s going to pass out._

 

_She’s beautiful, stunning in white. She’d insisted that every bride deserves to wear white, no matter her past,_ _and she wears it well. She’s glowing._

 

_He feels faint._

 

_Yeah,_ definitely _should have sprung for the groomsmen._

 

_He draws strength from her though, clasping her hands firmly in his own. He doesn’t hear the priest, doesn’t feel anything but the pulse of her hands in his own until --_

 

“ _David, do you take Kathryn...”_

 

\--

 

David woke, not in a jolt, but slowly, blinking into the darkness as the dream faded away.

 

No, not a dream. A memory.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he whispered, reaching for her only to find empty bed in her place. Right, field trip tomorrow. He pressed his face into her pillow instead, closing his eyes as everything came back to him.

 

_Kathryn._


	11. Chapter Nine

Mary Margaret sighed as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment, ready for a good book and a long bath. Taking her students on a walking field trip through Storybrooke had seemed like a good idea at first, but proved to be a little more complicated in practice. They’d had fun - all of them - but she was now filthy and exhausted, and bed was beckoning, even at four in the afternoon.

 

She turned the corner to the last landing, and was surprised to find David pacing in front of her door. She felt something tighten in her chest as she readjusted her bag over her shoulder. “David? Is everything okay?”

 

He turned, finally noticing her. “Yeah,” he replied hastily. “Yeah, I just … wanted to see you.”

 

She frowned. This wasn’t him. The David she knew was smooth and confident, and not so easily rattled. “O-kay,” she said, coming to meet him face to face. “I gave you a key, remember? You could have let yourself in.”

 

“Oh, the key,” he said. “Of course.”

 

She cast him a wary glance as she unlocked the door herself and let him inside. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

 

He replied by looping his arms around her, even before she’d managed to get the door closed. And then his lips were on hers, warm and insistent.

 

“Mm, David,” she said as she pulled away, pressing her hands against his shoulders. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting … strange.”

 

“How is this strange?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “You just seem … not yourself.” She reached up to lay the back of her hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. “Are you feeling all right? You’re acting almost clingy.”

 

He leaned into her hand, then bent forward to kiss her again, lightly. “I just … really missed you last night.”

 

She smiled, moving her hand to caress his cheek instead, stroking her thumb against his stubble. “It was just one night,” she teased. “It’s not like I’m going to disappear on you or anything.” She pressed a delicate kiss to his lips. “Next thing I know, you’re going to be moving in!”

 

He didn’t reply to that, choosing instead to envelop her in his arms as his mouth closed over hers. For a moment she considered protesting, but then he was pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and all other thought vanished.

 

As he pushed her up against the kitchen counter, she thanked the powers-that-be that Emma wouldn’t be home for hours.

 

Later, she curled against him in the bath, sighing as he worked shampoo through her hair. “That was … new,” she purred, shifting to lie closer to him in the narrow tub.

 

“Mm?” he hummed, scooping up some water to rinse her hair.

 

“I don’t know,” she replied, turning to look at him. He gazed back at her, but seemed far away, somehow just beyond her reach. “Just different I guess.”

 

He stiffened beneath her - not like him at all. “Is that … a bad thing?”

 

“No,” she frowned. “David, are you sure you’re okay? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me, right?”

 

He took a deep breath, his chest swelling against her.

 

The front door of the apartment clattered open and footsteps approached. “I brought home takeout,” Emma’s voice called. “I knew you’d be tired and-- Mary Margaret?”

 

Mary Margaret tried to control the giggles rising from within her. “In the bath!” she called out in reply.

 

“But isn’t this David’s-- ? Augh!”

 

Mary Margaret couldn’t help it any longer, doubling over in laughter, as David lay stiff and silent behind her.

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret returned to her apartment, tired from a long day of teaching. All she really wanted was sleep, but David had sent her a text during class - something he normally avoided - asking that they go on a walk this evening. And how could she turn that down?

 

Eva chirped restlessly, fluttering about her cage. “Calm down, you,” she admonished with a smile, and trudged up the stairs, one arm full of workbooks, the other full of birdcage.

 

She stopped short, though, finding a figure from her past leaning against her door.

 

She frowned, faltering and nearly dropping the workbooks. “Killian?”

 

“Hey, love,” he replied. He was different than she remembered, all tight leather now with several days’ scruff on his face. But that smirk was still the same, that same self-confident air that had instantly pinned him in her mind as a total ass. He considered her with one eyebrow cocked, his arms folded across his chest. To those who didn’t know him, it would appear that he was leering at her, but no, that was just his way.

 

She’d met Killian her sophomore year of college, when he was in his senior year. Those had been her ‘wild years’ (well, wild in Mary Margaret’s book). Her roommate had taken to bringing boys home with her to their narrow dorm room, and after so many nights of watching the mattress on the top bunk sway and squeak, she’d finally had enough. Her chemistry lab partner - Killian - had found her sleeping in her car, and graciously offered the futon in his living room.

 

And so maybe they’d gone on a few dates. (What could she say? It was college.) But there wasn’t anything there. Somehow he’d talked her into dinner and a movie under the pretense of making a fellow cadet jealous, and from there it had just become a habit. In the end, he’d come out with a girlfriend, and she’d come out with a few free meals. Not exactly a fair trade, but that wasn’t his fault.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking in his new appearance a second time. In college, he’d been very clean cut, the picture of conformity as dictated by his ROTC detachment. Part of her though wasn’t surprised. The changes seemed to suit him.

 

“Got a job on a fishing boat outta here,” he said. “Was supposed to start today but they’re staying out at sea for a few more days. Don’t really have money for a hotel room, but I remembered you grew up here.” Only then did she notice the military-issue backpack and duffel at his feet. “And if I recall, you owe me a favor.”

 

She sighed. He’d done the same for her nine years ago. She couldn’t really say _no_. “What happened to the Navy? They finally kick you out?”

 

He simply shrugged, gesturing with his hands.

 

Er, _hand_. Singular.

 

She gaped.

 

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

 

“Yes,” he smirked, “that is what the ladies tend to say.”

 

Eva fluttered restlessly in her cage.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Oh, save your pity party for someone else,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know me better than that. But if you really want to help a poor, desperate soul, I could use a stiff drink.”

 

Mary Margaret, of course, insisted on tea instead. It took a lot for her to justify liquor before 6pm.

 

So two cups of tea later, Killian had made himself at home at her kitchen table, waiting patiently as she refilled his mug. “So, in the war?” she asked carefully.

 

“Well, I certainly didn’t do it slicing a bagel,” he commented wryly. “The VA was talking about getting me one of those mechanical prosthetics, but I never made it to captain. Didn’t seem so much fun without the unbearable pun.”

 

She smiled faintly. Same Killian after all. She was glad of it, even if that ‘same Killian’ was an ass. “What a shame,” she agreed. “What about Milah? I was sure you two were in it for the long haul.”

 

His smile fell. “We were,” he said, stirring his tea. “She, ah, she crashed her plane. Training exercise.”

 

“Oh, Killian,” she breathed, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers. “I’m so-”

 

“Yes, sorry, I know,” he said, cutting her off. “Didn’t I tell you something about pity parties earlier?”

 

She withdrew her hand. “Sorry.”

 

The awkward moment was broken by the even more awkward arrival of Emma, crashing through the front door as graceless as always. She stopped in her tracks upon spotting Killian at the table. “You’re not David,” she said, stating the obvious.

 

Killian glanced to Mary Margaret, quirking his eyebrows.

 

Mary Margaret cast him a threatening look. “You know, I _do_ have more friends than the two of you.”

 

Killian rose from the table, greeting Emma with a kiss to her hand. “Lieutenant Killian Jones, formerly of the United States Navy,” he said, voice smooth. “At your service.”

 

“Uh huh.” Emma removed her hand from his, clearly not interested.

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “Killian, Emma. Emma, Killian. Old roommate, new roommate. New roommate, old roommate.”

 

“Roommates?” Emma asked, surprised.

 

“We shared a bed, too, ”Killian grinned. “If I recall.”

 

Mary Margaret sighed. “If by shared a bed you mean that one night you let me sleep in your bed and you took the futon, then yes.” Killian was still staring at Emma, not-so-subtly licking his lips. She should have seen this coming. “He needs a place to stay for a few nights,” she explained, coming over to run interference. “And unfortunately I owe him a favor, and he’s got quite the sob story to boot. Do you mind?”

 

Emma eyed him for a moment. “I guess not,” she conceded. “It’s your apartment.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Of course she is,” Killian interjected. “The lass and I’ll get on famously.”

 

“I can handle him,” Emma assured her, rolling her eyes.

 

Mary Margaret smiled, grateful to have such an understanding friend, then realized with a start that she’d all but forgotten about her date with David. “What time is it?” she asked, slightly panicked.

 

Emma frowned, then checked her watch. “Almost six. Why?”

 

Shoot. Shoot shoot shoot. Mary Margaret began pulling on her coat and hat, nearly tangling herself in her scarf in the process. “I’ve got a date with David at six. Is it okay if I-?”

 

Emma waved her off. “Go on. If he gets too obnoxious I can pull out the handcuffs.”

 

Killian grinned mischievously. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

 

“She’s a cop,” Mary Margaret warned him, and tugged on her gloves. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy yourself very much.”

 

“You’d be surprised.”

 

Halfway out the door, she turned to warn him one last time. “Don’t even think about it, Killian, even if you are her type.”

 

Killian perked up. “Oh? And what type is that?”

 

“Irish and scruffy.”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret walked as fast as she could, then - against her better judgment - found herself half-jogging to the trailhead. “David!” she called out, breathless. Then came to a stop in front of him, catching her breath. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had a surprise visitor.”

 

“A visitor?” he frowned. “Who?”

 

She leaned up to kiss him hello. “Oh, just an old friend from college,” she said, and linked her arm through his. “Needs a place to stay for a few nights.”

 

David began leading them down the path, walking slowly with her tucked against his side. “Yeah? What are they doing in Storybrooke?”

 

“He just got discharged from the Navy,” she said, steps falling into time with his. “Got work down at the docks, but he can’t afford rent until he gets his first paycheck.” She felt David stiffen against her. “I told him he could sleep on our couch until then.”

 

“Ah,” he replied uncomfortably. “And this - what’s his name again?”

 

“Killian.”

 

“Killian,” he repeated, trying the name out. “How do you know this Killian again?”

 

“We lived together for about half a semester.”

 

David stumbled. Mary Margaret sighed. She’d predicted this reaction. “You _lived_ with him? Did you- were you-?”

 

“Did we date?” she clarified, frowning. “We went out once or twice, but I hardly think that matters.” It was a bit of a white lie, but she had to punish him a little for being so easily jealous. She looked up at him sternly. “David, it’s not like anything’s going to happen. Don’t you trust me?”

 

“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s _him_ that I’m worried about.”

 

“Well,” she replied, a lilt in her voice. “You could come over tonight. _Mark your territory_.”

 

“Mary Margaret--” David stopped dead in his tracks, pulling her to a halt with him. “I remembered,” he said simply.

 

She frowned. “Remembered what?”

 

He reached down to take her hand in his own, looking at her very seriously. “I _remembered._ Everything.”

 

And just like that Mary Margaret’s world stopped. She felt lightheaded and sick, holding tightly onto his hand as she felt the earth shift beneath her. “You- you-” she stammered, reluctant to say the words, because that would make it real. “You remember? You mean-”

 

“Yes,” he admitted, eyes downcast.

 

“Everything?” she asked, barely able to find her voice.

 

“Everything.”

 

He remembered. She should be happy for him, happy that he was making a complete recovery after all these years; happy that twenty-seven years of his life hadn’t been lost. She forced a smile - because isn’t that what you were supposed to do? Was there even a clear cut guidebook for this sort of thing? Some sort of pamphlet? - but inside, she felt her whole world falling apart around her. “You mean--” she said, voice thick. “You mean you remember -- your wife.”

 

He sighed and nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “Yes,” he said softly. “I do.”

 

“And you love her,” she said, a statement not a question, trying with all her might to keep her voice even and her face pleasant. She’d feared this since that picnic in the woods; part of her always pointing out that all good things come to an end. And here she was again, watching helplessly as someone she loved turned and walked away.

 

“I--” he frowned, shaking his head. “I did. I did love her.”

 

Mary Margaret released his hand, taking a step back. “And what you said to me-” she choked.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he whispered, catching her hands in his own. “I do love you. I’m not-- What do you think I’m doing?”

 

“You’re leaving me,” she said, raising her chin and standing tall because she would not be the victim. Not again. She pulled her hands away.

 

“No!” He caught her hand again, holding on this time with bruising strength. “I’m not -- _leaving_ you. I just need to -- I need to talk to her, okay? I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow morning.”

 

She shook her head, unable to believe this was happening; unable to admit it. “When?” she whispered, finally meeting his eyes, and then clarified. “When did this happen?”

 

“What?”

 

“When did you remember?” she asked, raising her voice. “You’ve been acting strange lately, so don’t even try to pretend it happened in the ten hours since I last saw you.”

 

He looked away. “Last week,” he answered softly.

 

“Last _week_?” She couldn’t fight the tears any longer, betrayal stinging in her heart. “Over a week, and you couldn’t tell me? David--”

 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he explained desperately, still clinging to her hand.

 

“Well, good job then,” she laughed humorlessly, and shook her head. “I thought we were in this together.”

 

“We are--”

 

“No,” she said, cutting him off as she moved from hurt to angry. “Apparently we’re not. David, you’ve been _lying_ to me for over a week.”

 

“I haven’t lied!” he protested, raising his voice to meet hers.

 

She laughed darkly again. “Haven’t lied? You mean you think it’s okay to hide this from me and act like nothing has changed? To tell me you love me?”

 

“But I do love you!”

 

“Apparently not.”

 

“Mary Margaret--” He moved to cup her cheek in his hand, to brush away the tears, but she pulled away.

 

“David,” she whispered, finally finding both the physical and mental resolve to pull her hand from his. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret arrived home to find Emma on the couch, eating pizza out of the box, and Killian camped out on the floor with a pillow and blanket. Emma froze mid-bite upon noticing her.

 

“Hey,” she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

Mary Margaret didn’t reply, only stepped over Killian’s supine form on the way to her bed. There was a hushed conversation behind her as she curled up on top of the covers and hugged a pillow to her chest. The walk home had been sobering, and now she simply felt numb.

 

Footsteps. “Hey,” said Emma softly, standing behind her. “Do you -- do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Emma was quiet for a moment, the floorboards creaking under her weight as she rocked from side to side in indecision. “Do you want to be alone?”

 

“Nope,” Mary Margaret replied, a half-choked whisper on the edge of a sob.

 

Maybe she wasn’t quite numb yet.

 

The bed shifted, adjusting for the extra weight as Emma settled down beside her, one hand warm against her back.


	12. Chapter Ten

The day came as it always did, the sun rising and the town waking, but Mary Margaret would much rather have stayed in bed. This day was hard every year, but this particular year, David’s absence barely three days old, was another matter altogether. But Archie had told her all those years ago that the best thing she could do would be to push through, to not let the pain and misery win. It was the one good piece of advice she’d stuck to without fail, and so she rolled out of bed and stepped over Killian - camped out on the floor with a few old blankets and a spare pillow - on her way to work.

 

The school day was a blessed distraction; the perfect day-to-day monotony to draw her attention from the date. Her students came, just like any other day. They learned, they played, and at last they packed up to leave. This was the hardest part - making it through the lonely evening hours, watching the clock tick away to a brand new day. But she had to push through, so she began gathering the spelling tests that needed grading and the math homework that needed corrections, ready to face the evening.

 

“Miss Blanchard?”

 

Mary Margaret looked up and smiled to see Henry standing at her desk. “Yes, Henry?”

 

Henry looked over his shoulder, watching as the last of his classmates filtered out of the room, then leaned in close over her desk. “I thought you would want to keep it a secret,” he whispered. “Since you didn’t tell anyone.”  
  
She played along, leaning in close as well. “Oh, yeah?” she whispered conspiratorially. “What’s that?”

 

“You know,” he replied, and bent down to unzip his backpack, carefully pulling out a cardboard takeout box from Granny’s. He unwrapped it delicately to reveal a single cupcake with a blue candle shaped like a star stuck on top. “Happy birthday!”

 

World spinning and the walls closing in, Mary Margaret grabbed the edge of her desk and held on tight. Thirteen years now - thirteen _years_ \- and no-one had said those words to her. And here was Henry, beaming as he offered her a slightly smushed cupcake - _Henry_ of all people - wanting to wish her a happy birthday.

 

She put on a pained smile. "Thank you, Henry," she said stiffly. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

 

“I know I’m not supposed to play with matches,” said Henry, “so you’ll have to pretend to blow out the candle. I can still sing to you, though!”

 

“That’s okay, Henry,” she replied tightly. “I’ll … eat it at home. I can blow out the candle then.”

 

Henry beamed. “With my mom?”

 

“Yes,” she said, forcing her smile to be sincere.

 

“Happy birthday, Miss Blanchard,” Henry grinned, then slipped around the table to hug her tightly. She barely had time to wrap her arms around him in return before he was running out the classroom door, his backpack hanging half-open on his back.

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret had barely stumbled through her apartment door when her tears got the better of her. She crumpled against the door, sliding to the floor with the still-boxed cupcake in her lap, her bag abandoned at her side. Thirteen years and she’d always managed to keep the grief at bay - to some extent - and now …

 

Footsteps. She opened her eyes to find Killian kneeling in front of her, his face unusually concerned. “Hey, love,” he said softly, setting his hand carefully against her knee. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” she muttered unconvincingly, and gripped the takeout box more tightly.

 

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he replied. He stared at her for a moment before trying again, “Let’s get you more comfortable on the couch, yeah? No need for you to sit on the floor.”  
  


Mary Margaret stared at him for a moment - her mind flashing back to that late night in college when he tapped on her car window, insisting that ‘pretty girls shouldn’t be sleeping in cars’ - and thought she’d only seen this caring nature from him a handful of occasions in the time she’d known him. She nodded, just barely, and he helped her up, wrapping his bad arm around her shoulders.

 

“There we go,” he murmured as he guided her to sit on the couch.

 

Mary Margaret looked up to find Emma thumping down the stairs, then freezing when she caught sight of her roommate and Killian on the couch. “Bastard!” she growled, running down the last few steps. “What did you do this time?”

 

“It wasn’t me!”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“He didn’t do anything,” Mary Margaret cut in, sounding miserable even to herself. “He was just trying to help.”

 

Emma snorted, but came to sit beside her regardless, nudging Killian out of the way. “Can I get you anything? Tea?” She touched Mary Margaret’s arm gently.

 

Mary Margaret nodded. Tea always helped.

 

Emma cast Killian a threatening look then nodded to the kitchen. He held up his hand in way of surrender, and set the kettle to boil.

 

“What happened?” Emma asked softly, resting a reassuring hand against Mary Margaret’s arm.

 

“Henry gave me this,” Mary Margaret whispered, opening the box to reveal the cupcake.

 

Emma frowned. “He- it’s your birthday?”

 

Mary Margaret nodded.

 

Emma took a moment to process this, then tried carefully, “And this is a … bad thing?”

 

Mary Margaret nodded again.

 

Emma just nodded for a moment, a quiet presence. “Do you want to tell me why?” she asked gently. “You don’t have to, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”  
  
Mary Margaret sighed, tracing the edge of the box with her fingertip, then looked up, glancing between Emma sitting beside her and Killian watching them from the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “It was my sixteenth birthday,” she began, reciting the story as calmly as possible, eyes focused on the cupcake. She left out many of the more … vivid details, willing herself to get through this moment as quickly and painlessly as possible.

 

“So that’s what’s going on between you and Regina,” Emma said at last, stroking her hand up and down Mary Margaret’s arm.

 

Mary Margaret nodded, offering a small smile to Killian as he set a mug of chamomile tea into her hands. “And Henry. That’s why Regina can’t-”

 

A knock at the door.

 

Mary Margaret frowned, taking a long sip of tea, and Emma indicated that Killian answer the door. “Why Regina can’t what?” she urged gently.

 

“It’s why she can’t-” Mary Margaret began, but stopped short, stiffening at the sound of their caller’s voice.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Henry?” Emma frowned, rushing toward the door to greet her son. “What are you doing here?”

 

“It’s Miss Blanchard’s birthday,” he explained, eyeing Killian warily. “I thought we should throw her a party.”

 

“Henry,” Emma breathed. “That’s really sweet, but I don’t think-”

 

“Who are you?” Henry asked, cutting her off and frowning at Killian. “You’re not David.”

 

“I get that a lot,” he replied wryly.

 

Henry gave him one last skeptical look before turning to Mary Margaret. “You still have the cupcake!” he enthused, running forward, but stopped after only a few paces, a look of confusion on his face. “Miss Blanchard? Why are you crying?”

 

“Kid,” said Emma gently, her hand settling on his shoulder, “maybe I should take you home.”  
  


“No,” said Mary Margaret, setting aside her tea. “Don’t. I think he deserves to know.”

 

“Are you sure?” asked Emma, worried. Her hand tightened against her son’s shoulder.

 

Mary Margaret nodded. “C’mere, Henry.” She patted the spot on the couch beside her, then folded Henry into her arms when he joined her. In a perfect world, this was a conversation Henry would be having with his mother, not his teacher. But, as the very nature of the conversation suggested, they did not live in a perfect world, and she would have to make do.

 

Emma and Killian, meanwhile, disappeared into the kitchen, talking quietly in the corner.

 

“What’s wrong?” Henry frowned. “Are you hurt?”

 

“No,” Mary Margaret replied, stroking his hair. “No, Henry, it’s just -- it was very sweet of you to think about me on my birthday.”

 

“No-one seemed to know it _was_ your birthday,” he explained. “Granny and Ruby seemed really surprised when I bought the cupcake. I only knew because I wrote it down from your driver’s license. When I stole your credit card to go find my mom.”

 

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Clever boy,” she smiled, squeezing him. “Henry,” she began again, gentle but serious, “It was very sweet of you to bring me that cupcake, but I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

 

“You don’t?” he asked, truly shocked. “Why not? I mean, it’s not like you’re old or anything.”  
  


She smiled faintly at that. “Some really bad things happened,” she said. “On my birthday.”

 

“What sort of bad things?”

 

“Well,” she said, then sighed. Now or never, she told herself. “When I was about your age, my mother died. She was really sick. And after that, I was really lonely. But I had one friend, a really good friend in fact.”

 

“My mom,” he said, knowingly.

 

She frowned. “How -- how did you know that?”

 

“She’s got pictures of you,” he explained. “In her room. You and her, and some with this other guy in them. You look really young in them.”

 

Mary Margaret gasped softly, tears threatening her once more. Of course there were pictures, but she was certain Regina would have destroyed any that didn’t have Daniel in them as well, or at the very least stashed them away. She glanced mournfully to her room. There were no pictures of Regina there; only Emma. “I was,” she agreed quietly, trying her hardest to keep her voice steady.

 

“What happened?” asked Henry. “She doesn’t like you very much anymore.”

 

“Henry,” she said gently, pulling him closer. “Your mother was my best friend. But on my sixteenth birthday, we went out to celebrate, and something very bad happened. I was driving, and I crashed the car. Your mom -- she was really hurt. And it was all my fault.”

 

“But it was an accident,” Henry insisted. “If you didn’t mean to crash, then it was an accident, right?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that,” she said. “What I did to your mom? There’s no coming back from that. No forgiving it. I didn’t just hurt her, Henry, I -- I ripped her heart out.”

 

“But it was an accident,” he insisted again, almost impatiently. “A mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Even if you did something bad - like, really, really bad - it doesn’t make you a bad person, if it was an accident. Like in the book.”

 

“The book?” Mary Margaret frowned.

 

“Yeah, the book you gave Emma to give to me,” he said, and bent down to tug it out of his backpack. He opened it, flipping through the pages, and explained, “Snow White accidentally hurt the Evil Queen. But she was just a kid, and it was an accident.” He stopped on a page with a picture showing a young Snow White embracing her soon-to-be step-mother. Mary Margaret knew this chapter well. “The Evil Queen didn’t forgive her, but she was still a good person. She just had to learn to forgive herself.”

 

Such a smart boy. “Henry,” Mary Margaret said gently, guiding him to close the book. “Your mom isn’t the Evil Queen.”

 

“And neither are you.”

 

“Kid.”

 

Mary Margaret looked up to find Emma standing in front of them.

 

“I should probably get you back home to your mom,” she said. “Don’t want you getting in trouble for not being there when she gets home.”

 

Mary Margaret released Henry and slid his book back into his backpack. “I wouldn’t want her to worry,” she agreed. “Henry. Could you -- could you give your mom a big hug when you get home tonight? For me?”

 

Henry nodded, then threw his arms around her, hugging her tight, and pressed a kiss to her cheek that made her want to break down crying once more. He drew away then, and ran to the door.

 

“You gonna be okay?” Emma asked uncertainly. “I’ll be back as fast as I can …”

 

“You’re fine,” said Mary Margaret, wiping at her eyes. “Promise.”

 

Emma hesitated for a moment, then followed Henry out the door, but not before giving Killian a harsh warning that if he so much as touched her roommate she’d personally dropkick him out the second story window.

 

\--

 

Tired and emotionally drained, Mary Margaret moved to her bed, curled up, fully clothed beneath the covers, crying quietly as her tears dripped onto her pillow. Today had quite possibly been the opposite of what Dr. Hopper had told her to do, and she was feeling the effects as her mind raced with what-ifs and could-have-beens, listening as Killian clattered about in the kitchen.

 

The front door opened and closed.

 

She felt the bed shift beneath her and opened her eyes, fully expecting to find Emma staring back at her. “David?”

 

“Hey,” he replied quietly, moving her hair from her eyes. He was lying alongside her, on top of the covers, as if he’d never left.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I knew today would be hard for you,” he said carefully, pulling his hand back as if afraid to touch her. “I thought I’d stay away; I didn’t want to make it harder on you, but your friend called-”

 

She blinked. “Killian?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Oh.” He’d came, but not on his own. “What about Boston?”

 

“Got back early this morning,” he said. “Even though we-- I mean, even though you--” He sighed. “No matter what’s going on between us, I knew I had to be here today. For you. If you wanted me.”

 

She sniffed back her tears. “Well, I don’t.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then go away,” she said testily, fighting back tears. “You can’t just come in here and be my knight in shining armor and expect me to take you back. It doesn’t work that way.”

 

“I know,” he said again, patiently.

 

“Especially when you only came because Killian asked you to,” she added angrily. It was easier, she thought, to be angry with him. Maybe even easier than focusing on why she’d been crying in the first place. “Only shows that he cares, not you.”

 

“Well, I sent a text to Emma, asking if you were doing okay,” he explained calmly. “But your friend called before she could reply.” He dared to stroke her hair again, very lightly. “I don’t expect any partial credit for that, though.”

 

And that was it, she couldn’t take it anymore - not with knowing that Regina still cared about her, at least a little, not with him being so patient and sweet as if he hadn’t broken her heart, not with knowing that Emma and Killian had all but abandoned their respective evenings to care for her. All this time - thirteen years of her life - she’d spent convinced this was a burden she was destined to bear alone. And so she broke down, sobbing into her hands, finally knowing without a doubt that _someone_ would catch her when she fell.

 

“Mary Margaret?” David’s hand was on her shoulder now, and he was gazing at her with that same concerned look that had made her fall in love with him to begin with.

 

“It isn’t fair,” she sobbed.

 

“Shhh, I know,” he soothed, and slipped under the covers before gathering her into his arms.

 

She cried herself out against his shoulder, fingers fisted in his shirt as he rubbed her back in long, soft strokes. "I'm still mad at you," she murmured at last, voice raspy from crying.

 

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, against the light scar that usually hid beneath her bangs, his hands slipping under her sweater to trace comforting circles against her back. "I know."

 

"Then why are you here?"

 

"Because I love you."

 

“I’m not forgiving you,” she warned him, gazing at him through her eyelashes.

 

“I don’t expect you to,” he said honestly, then whispered, “I just can’t bear the thought of you in pain.”

 

She didn’t reply, merely focused on matching her breathing to his, feeling his chest rise against her as her own fell. Her heart ached to be so close to him, begged her to find it within herself to forgive him. But it wasn’t so easy.

 

_It’s more complicated than that._

 

_But it was an accident. A mistake. Everyone makes mistakes._

 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked finally.

 

“No,” she said, and closed her eyes as she settled into his embrace. She couldn’t accept his apology - not now, not yet - but this she could accept.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Mary Margaret woke alone to the sounds of Emma and Killian bickering in the kitchen, a single snowdrop flower resting on the pillow beside her. She smiled faintly at dawn peeking through her window.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Time passed, and winter began to fade, melting from the town as the snow gave way to the first signs of spring. Spring, Mary Margaret thought, was a time for healing and new beginnings, for forgiveness. Hope. So as she made her way to the store and spotted Graham heading the same direction on the opposite side of the street, she scurried over and fell into step with him, her arm looped through his. “Hey,” she said, a little breathless.

 

“Hey,” he replied with a confused smile. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

 

She shrugged. “It happens.”

 

“How have you been?” he asked, stopping them both at the corner as they waited for a car to pass. “Haven’t even seen you come by the station lately.”

 

“Busy,” she laughed, accentuating her exhaustion. “Been working on this play with the kids. It’s adorable but in retrospect, I think making all the costumes myself was an act of poor judgment.”

 

“Just maybe,” he grinned, leading her across the street.

 

“How have you been?” she asked as she stepped carefully around a puddle. “How’s Regina?”

 

Graham lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve been … well?” he said slowly, and nearly tripped over a garbage can, too busy eyeing her skeptically. “And I’m not ... seeing Regina anymore.”

 

Mary Margaret stopped in her tracks. “You aren’t?”

 

He was pulled to a stop with her. “No,” he frowned. “Why does it matter to you? I mean, you and Regina …”

 

“I -- just--” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Nothing. Just surprised, I suppose.”

 

“Uh huh,” he hummed suspiciously.

 

They resumed their walk silently, arm-in-arm. There was an odd familiarity to the act, as if it hadn’t been over a decade since they’d been in this position together, and yet they fell seamlessly into rhythm. Back then - a lifetime ago, she thought - Graham would meet her after school, and they’d walk together to Granny’s, hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, to share a piece of pie and hot chocolate. They were young then, clinging to a bond so easily mistaken for love. And, she thought as he guided her around a puddle, while the world around them had changed - while they themselves had changed even more - some things remained the same.

 

“Does this have anything to do with Emma?” she asked carefully. “You and Regina, that is.”

 

“What?” Graham asked, surprised. “Me and Emma?”

 

Mary Margaret gave him a pointed look.

 

“She’s my employee,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Besides, I think you of all people would know if there was anything going on between us.”

 

“I didn’t say there was,” she pointed out. “And that doesn’t answer my question.”

 

Graham snorted softly, and quickly changed the subject. “What about you? Are you and David still … ?”

 

“David and I aren’t anything anymore,” she said quickly, staring straight ahead.

 

“That’s a shame.”

 

Startled, she turned to look at him as they came to a stop once again, standing just outside the grocery store. She un-looped her arm from his. “Why do you say that?”

 

He shrugged. “You just seemed _happier_ with him,” he explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as happy as you are with him.”

 

“Well, he doesn’t make me happy anymore,” she said defensively, folding her arms across her middle.

 

Graham sighed. “Mary Margaret,” he said softly and squeezed her shoulder, “Whatever he did -- I don’t really know _what_ he did. But whatever he did, I’m sure it was a mistake. That man would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. And someday I hope you’ll be able to forgive him.”

 

“It isn’t that simple,” she argued, but her voice betrayed her doubt.

 

He cocked his head to the side, giving her an understanding smile. “Isn’t it?”

 

“Says the man who denies making ‘goo goo’ eyes at his deputy,” she shot back, cracking a small smile.

 

“I do not,” he replied, mock-offended.

 

“You totally do,” she laughed.

 

His phone chose that particular moment to ring, and after flipping it open to check who it was, he offered Mary Margaret a rueful smile. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s Emma. I should probably--”

 

She waved him off. “No, no, I understand,” she said. “Go make googly eyes at her. And tell her we’re having spaghetti for dinner.”

 

Graham rolled his eyes and answered the phone, heading off down the street toward the sheriff’s station. Mary Margaret watched as he left, puddles splashing beneath his feet.

 

\--

 

“So Graham said we’re having spaghetti?”

 

Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder from the stove, and smiled to see Emma stumbling in the front door and making her way over to the kitchen. “My day was good,” she teased. “Thanks for asking.”  
  


“Sorry,” Emma laughed, and perched on a stool at the counter. “But I’m starving.”  
  


Mary Margaret slipped her apron over her head and hung it on its hook. “Well, lucky for you, it’s ready.” Over the past several months, this exchange had become pretty typical. While Emma insisted that Mary Margaret needn’t cook for her or do her laundry for her ( _you’re my roommate, not my mom_ ), she knew enough about Emma’s past to know that these were things she’d done herself from a very young age. Maybe she didn’t need to mother her roommate, but she felt everyone deserved a little mothering in their life, and Emma had had none.

 

They settled down at the kitchen table each with a plate of spaghetti and a piece of garlic bread. “So you excited for spring break?” Emma asked, and then dug into her food.

 

“You have no idea,” Mary Margaret replied, exhaustion evident. “Just one more day. I need the break so badly, I’m sort of pawning the kids off on someone else for an hour.”

 

Emma frowned. “Oh?”

 

Picking at her garlic bread, Mary Margaret explained, “Every year about this time I do a unit on heroes. We talk about heroes in literature, in history, and then in real life. I try to get a real-life hero or two to come in and speak to them. Inspire them a little, you know? Last year I got Graham.”

 

“And who’s doing it this year?” asked Emma around a mouthful of spaghetti.

 

“Killian.”

 

Emma choked. “Captain Douchebag?” she asked incredulously.

 

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose, cutting off a chunk of spaghetti. “Technically it’s Lieutenant Douchebag I think.”

 

“And you’re bringing him in to talk to a bunch of kids,” Emma clarified, eyeing her friend. “My kid included.”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “I think it might be good for him. Killian needs a little hope in his life.”

 

“Are you sure he’ll behave himself?” Emma asked skeptically.

 

“I think so. He’s not as bad as you think he is.”

 

Emma snorted.

 

“He just acts that way because he likes you,” Mary Margaret teased, nudging her friend’s foot beneath the table.

 

“Oh shut up,” Emma groused and chucked a chunk of garlic bread at her roommate.

 

Mary Margaret giggled mischievously. “I’m even making him come in uniform. He had to shave.”

 

Emma couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, I’m sure he _loved_ that.”

 

Mary Margaret shrugged. “He owes me.”

 

“I’m just glad he finally got that job and moved out. He wouldn’t stop hitting on me.”

 

Grinning mischievously, Mary Margaret commented, “Speaking of scruffy Irishmen …”

 

“Oh boy,” Emma sighed, letting her fork clatter against her plate as she leaned back in her chair. “Here we go.”

 

Mary Margaret ignored her. “Graham told me something pretty interesting today.”

 

“Oh yeah?” said Emma. “He’s giving me a raise finally?”

 

“Unfortunately, he didn’t say anything about that,” said Mary Margaret. “But he did tell me that he isn’t seeing Regina anymore.”

 

Emma pretended to be unintererested, pushing a meatball around her plate. “So?”

 

“So I think you should go for it,” said Mary Margaret, gesturing with her fork. “He’s crazy about you. You’re crazy about him. You’re both available. Go for it.”  
  


Emma cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, gazing pointedly at her roommate, “I could say the same for you and a certain someone I know.”

 

“We’re not talking about me,” Mary Margaret replied sternly. “Emma,” she said, voice softening, “I want you to be happy.”

 

Emma didn’t respond, and Mary Margaret saw the walls coming up, locking her out. Maybe she’d finally pushed too far. They finished their dinner in silence, a deep ache taking up residence in the pit of Mary Margaret’s stomach.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Mary Margaret squeezed her way into Granny’s - packed with the morning crowd of caffeine addicts - and found her place in line at the counter. She glanced out the window, checking to make sure Killian hadn’t taken off with her car. Not only had he insisted they get coffee before this little adventure, but he’d demanded that she be the one to acquire it. He’d made some convoluted excuse about being unable to hold two cups of coffee with just one hand, but in reality, she was pretty certain he was just avoiding being seen in uniform in public.

  
But she needed coffee, and he was doing her a favor, so here she was.

 

Several minutes later, she made it to the front of the line and ordered two coffees - no sugar - from a very tired-looking Ruby.

 

She moved to the side to wait for her order, tripping as she dodged a mother and her two kids careening towards the door, and stumbled into the man behind her. “Goodness!” she remarked, righting herself. “I’m so so-” She froze, something inside of her aching with familiarity when her eyes met David’s. “David,” she breathed.

 

“Mary Margaret,” he replied, caught off guard. “Are-” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yes, of course,” she said, straightening her cardigan. “No harm done. I -- um -- how have you been?” Not well, she thought, by the haggard look he had about him. Truthfully, she missed him desperately, and wanted nothing more than to slip into his arms as if nothing had ever happened. But something had, and she couldn't so easily forget that.

 

“All right I guess,” he lied. “And you?”

 

“Same,” she replied uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

 

David rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got some time before work,” he said carefully. “Maybe we could … you know … talk?”

 

She opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of Ruby’s voice behind her at the counter. “Mary Margaret?” She turned to find Ruby holding out her drink order.

 

David looked stunned upon seeing the two cups of coffee, then followed her gaze out the window to where Killian was sitting in the passenger seat of her car.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. “But I really have to go.”

 

“Maybe some other time?” David offered, though now he seemed significantly deflated, what little confidence he’d retained now gone.

 

“Maybe,” she agreed, though she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet. “Anyway,” she said, “I’ll see you around,” and made her way quickly out of the diner and towards her car, careful not to spill either coffee.

 

Maybe Emma was onto something with those walls of hers, she thought, because walking away from David got harder every time.

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret had to admit it - Killian cleaned up well. Watching him speak to her class, she was very glad she’d asked him to come, and even moreso that she’d convinced him to do so in uniform. The children looked up at him with eyes wide with wonder, and his tales of heroics overseas entertained better than anything she could have come up with herself. After all, Mary Margaret wasn’t a hero.

 

The bell rang, releasing her students from class, and she smiled from her desk as she bid them all a fun and safe spring break. The students filtered out, occasionally coming up to give her a hug or offer Killian an overly dramatic salute (she stifled a giggle as he would snap a salute in return), until only Henry remained, approaching Killian thoughtfully.

 

“So you’re a hero, right?” he asked, dropping his backpack at his feet.

 

Killian frowned, and after a quick glance to Mary Margaret replied, “I suppose so. That’s what they say.”

 

“You don’t seem very happy though,” said Henry. “In my book, the heroes always get happy endings.”

 

Mary Margaret felt her heart all but shatter at the comment. She’d given Henry the book because he’d needed hope, but it seemed he’d latched onto the constructs a little too tightly. It was endearing in a way; she _wished_ life were that simple. “Henry-”

 

Killian cut her off with a half-smile. “No, it’s okay.” He knelt down then to Henry’s level. “Maybe,” he said, more gentle than she’d ever seen him before, “I don’t have my happy ending, because my story isn’t over yet.”

 

Henry considered this for a moment, before deciding that this was a perfectly logical conclusion. Killian grinned and ruffled his hair.

 

“Sorry I’m late.”

 

Mary Margaret looked up to find Regina rushing through the door, slowing to a stop as she came even with Henry. She frowned. “Who’s this?” she asked, eyeing Killian up and down.

 

“He’s the guy who lives with Emma and Miss Blanchard,” Henry chirped helpfully.

 

Mary Margaret covered her face with her hands, mortified, while Killian cast her a mischievous wink and Regina gaped. “He only stayed with us for a week,” she explained, as calmly as possible with the blood rushing to her cheeks.

 

Killian stood, taking Regina’s hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles in greeting. “Lieutenant Killian Jones,” he smiled. “Although around here I go by ‘not-David’.”

 

“Regina Mills,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “I’m Henry’s mother. And the mayor.”

 

“Ah,” he replied, not quite releasing her hand yet. Mary Margaret had seen this before, the renowned Killian Jones Charm. She’d only been lucky it hadn’t worked on her. And, it seemed, it wasn’t doing much work on Regina either. “I see where the boy gets his good looks.”

 

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. “He’s adopted,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “You knew that.”

 

“Shh,” he hissed, glaring at her.

 

Regina made a point of withdrawing her hand, and turned to Mary Margaret. “So Henry said something about a -- bird?”

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mary Margaret, and made her way across the classroom to Eva’s cage, grateful for the change in topic. “Yes. Every other weekend, one of the students takes Eva here home with them. It teaches them responsibility and respect for animals.” She glanced to Regina then, gauging her reaction after their previous disagreement over birds. Luckily, though, her expression was pleasant enough (aside from the mildly annoyed looks she was shooting at Killian). “Henry asked if he could take her over spring break. He, um, he said it was okay with you?”

 

Regina nodded. “It is.”

 

Mary Margaret sighed a bit in relief, and moved the various supplies to an old shopping bag. “Good,” she said, and pulled out a piece of paper. “Henry knows what to do, but I’ve written it out here, just in case.” She handed the instructions over to Regina. “My cell number is on there too,” she explained, pointing to it. “If there are any problems, don’t be afraid to call me.”

 

Regina glanced over the instructions and nodded. “Sounds simple enough,” she said, folding the paper and tucking it with her into the bag of supplies. “Is there anything else?”

 

Mary Margaret considered this for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Unless you need help getting all of this to your car?”

 

“As an upstanding member of this community,” Killian cut in, “I’d like to volunteer my services.”

 

Mary Margaret had to contain her laughter upon seeing Henry’s baffled reaction.

 

“I think we’ll be fine on our own,” said Regina levelly, and handed Henry the bag of supplies before lovingly running her fingers through his hair. “Is that too heavy for you?”

 

Henry shook his head, and hoisted the bag over his shoulder before running to wrap his arms around Mary Margaret’s waist. “Have a good spring break,” he said, squeezing her.

 

“You too, Henry,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him in return. She glanced up to find Regina smiling at them, and returned the gesture in kind. “Be good for your mom,” she said, and watched as mother and son gathered up bird, backpack and supplies before heading out. “And remember to do your homework!” she called after them.

 

Killian smiled after them as well, but not so innocently.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Mary Margaret warned.

 

“Think about what?” he asked defensively.

 

“You are nowhere near her type,” she said, and began gathering her own belongings, along with a stack of papers to grade. “Trust me.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insisted, taking a stack of workbooks from her and tucking them under his bad arm.

 

Mary Margaret dug her keys from out of her purse as they made their way to the classroom door. “Uh huh,” she deadpanned, then smiled in gratitude as he held the door open for her. “Let’s get you home, Don Juan.”


	14. Chapter Twelve

Spring break was a blessed reprieve from the chaos of Mary Margaret’s daily life, and yet by Tuesday morning she still found herself with the same routine - same early bedtime, same early alarm, same bleary-eyed fumbling for the coffee pot. She’d spent much of the day before catching up on grading and lesson plans, and only had a few more items left on her to-do list before she could fully enjoy her much-needed time off.

 

But for now, she had time to enjoy her morning, and perched herself by the counter, slowly sipping the steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

 

Muffled noises trickled down from upstairs, and she looked up to find _Graham_ tiptoeing away from Emma’s room, still buttoning his shirt.

 

She smirked knowingly at him and took another sip of coffee.

 

He froze. “... Hi.”

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she greeted, eyes alight with mirth. “How did you sleep?”

 

He blinked at her a few times, trying to process the situation. “Uh--” he stammered, still frozen halfway down the steps. “I’ll just …”

 

She nodded, trying to contain her laughter, as he ran full speed the rest of the way down the stairs and out the door without another word.

 

There were more rustling sounds from upstairs, and Mary Margaret set about pouring another cup of coffee for her roommate along with a bowl of non-sugary cereal.

 

Emma emerged a moment later, smoothing her mussed hair on her way down the stairs. “Good morning,” she said, unusually awake for this time of day.

 

“Good morning,” Mary Margaret grinned in return. “How did you sleep?”

 

“Fine,” Emma replied, and plopped herself down at the counter, accepting the cereal and coffee.

 

“Are you sure?” Mary Margaret teased, and handed her a spoon. “I was a little worried when I saw some strange man running down the stairs a moment ago.”

 

Emma glared at her, and took an overly dramatic bite of cereal.

 

“I thought about calling the police,” Mary Margaret continued, giggling a little over the rim of her coffee cup, “but he was wearing a badge and you were upstairs--”

 

She was cut off by Emma chucking a cheerio at her head. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping in?” she complained. “It’s spring break.”

 

Mary Margaret laughed. “And miss that priceless walk of shame? Not in a million years.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes, and stirred her cereal thoughtfully, suddenly very quiet.

 

Mary Margaret frowned and leaned her elbows against the counter. “Hey,” she said softly, worried that her teasing had been too much. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

“It isn’t that,” Emma insisted, then looked up from her breakfast. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

 

“With what?” asked Mary Margaret, and paused to take a long sip of coffee. “You and Graham?”

 

Emma nodded. “He mentioned that you two … used to …” She paused, giving her friend a pointed look.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret sighed and lolled her head forward. “I was seventeen. It was nothing.” She grinned then. “And besides, if it really bothered me would I have been playing matchmaker all this time?”

 

Emma shrugged. “I guess not …”

 

“Good,” said Mary Margaret, refilling her coffee. “Now finish your breakfast and get cleaned up for work. Wouldn’t want the deputy having sex hair.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes as Mary Margaret gathered a stack of papers and made her way to her desk. “Yes, _Mom_ ,” she droned sarcastically.

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret had just finished grading the past week’s exams, the very last item on her list for the week, and was settling down with a cup of peppermint tea and a dog-eared copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ when there was a knock at her door. She frowned, set aside her book and tea, and got up to answer it. She was surprised to find a sniffling and red-faced Henry on the other side.

 

“Henry!” she gasped, and ushered him inside, one arm around his shoulders. “Henry, what’s wrong? What happened?”

 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, and let her lead him over to the couch.

 

“Sorry for what?” she askedas she plucked some tissues off the end table and offered them to him.

 

He dabbed at his face. “It’s Eva,” he explained, voice trembling. “She was singing and flapping around and I thought she wanted to play.” He blew his nose into the tissues, loudly and messily. “You know, like we do in class.”

 

“Mhm,” Mary Margaret hummed, already seeing where this was going, and internally berating herself for allowing this situation to happen. “And then what happened?”

 

“I _know_ we aren’t supposed to take her out if our parents aren’t home,” he said. “But she _really_ wanted out and my mom wasn’t going to be home for _hours_.”

 

“So you let her out to play,” Mary Margaret said. She briefly considered reminding Henry of the rules and giving him a lesson on responsibility, but decided that the tears and heartache he was experiencing right now were punishment enough. He’d surely learned his lesson. “She got away from you, didn’t she?”

 

“I didn’t know the window was open,” he explained plaintively. “Or I wouldn’t have let her out. I _promise_.”

 

“I believe you, Henry,” she said, stroking the boy’s hair. “You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. Didn’t you tell me that once?”

 

He sniffled and nodded up at her. “But my mom,” he said, “she’s going to be so angry. And the whole class is going to hate me.”

 

“No they won’t,” she insisted. “I’ll talk to your mom, and we’ll tell the class the truth. It was an accident.” She stood up then, offering the boy her hand. “But first, let’s see if I can’t track her down, okay? She probably hasn’t gone too far.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” she smiled. Henry accepted her hand and she tugged him to his feet. “But first, let’s get you home. No use worrying your mother about _you_ missing too.” She nudged him in the ribs, earning just a little snort of laughter from him.

 

\--

 

Having dropped Henry off at home with explicit instructions to stay there until his mother returned home, Mary Margaret made her way to the one place she’d been avoiding for nearly two months - the animal shelter. She put the car into park and hesitated for a moment, both hands still on the steering wheel as she took deep breaths - _inhale; exhale_ \- emotionally preparing herself for seeing David again. He was here; she’d parked just next to his truck.

 

Emotional walls in place, she made her way inside as casually as possible, offering a kind smile to a mother and child in the waiting area who were trying to calm their new puppy. She waited at the front desk for a few moments until David peeked out from the back room. As expected, he was surprised to see her.

 

“Mary Margaret?”

 

She swallowed over the lump in her throat and took a step closer to the desk, bracing her hands against the edge. “Hi David,” she said, forcing a smile. “I -- I need your help.”

 

He frowned, suddenly concerned. “Of course,” he said. “Anything.”

 

“You remember Eva, right?” she asked, then bit her lip momentarily. “The bird I got? For my class?”

 

He nodded. “How could I forget?”

 

How could he forget, indeed. Moreover, how could she forget? If it hadn’t been for Eva … “Well,” she said, shaking herself to clear the thoughts from her mind, “she’s gone … missing. One of my students took her home for break, and she got loose. Has anyone brought her in?”

 

David knew the animals at the shelter as well as she knew the students in her class. So when his expression darkened, she already knew his answer, even before he took a quick glance at the clipboard in front of him. “No,” he said regretfully. “No-one’s brought her in yet. I can -- call you if you want? If someone finds her.”

 

She nodded. “Please,” she said. “Henry thinks everyone is going to hate him.”

 

“Henry’s the one she got away from?” David made a sympathetic noise. “Poor kid. I’ll keep an eye out for her.” He shuffled through some papers behind the desk, and came up with a template for a ‘Lost Pet’ flyer. “You might want to try making one of these. We can put one up here in the shelter when you’re done.”

 

She accepted the paper and looked it over. “Thank you,” she said, nodding as she chewed on the side of her thumbnail. “I think I’ll do that.” She smiled at him, a bit more genuinely this time. It was hard not to when he was looking at her like that. “Please call me if you hear anything,” she said and turned to leave.

 

But she only made a few paces before he’d caught up with her and caught her hand in his own. “Mary Margaret,” he said, squeezing her hand as she turned to look at him. “I was wondering if maybe -- maybe we could still get that coffee.”

 

She took a deep breath, thinking of Graham’s advice, and of Emma’s. She thought of Henry’s too, and wondered why it seemed so simple to everyone but her. She wanted to take him up on his offer, wanted the life they’d had before, but there was a wall of hurt standing in her way, and an emotional wall of her own beyond even that. “David,” she whispered. “I -- I really don’t have time for this right now, okay?”

 

He sighed. “Okay,” he relented. “Just -- let me know if you change your mind?”

 

She nodded, and reluctantly pulled her hand from his. “I will,” she said, and left, not daring to look back.

 

\--

 

Luckily, thanks to her class, Mary Margaret had many pictures of Eva to choose from. Unfortunately, her ‘Lost Pet’ flyer left much to be desired. She really didn’t have the money to offer much of a reward, but perhaps the information that she was a class pet would give any would-be rescuers the incentive to turn her in. Satisfied with her handiwork, she was just about to head to the school to make copies when there was a knock at her door.

 

Henry again, was her first thought, but glancing at her watch she realized Regina was likely home from work already. David was her second, and that thought alone sent a rush of both dread and longing through her simultaneously.

 

What she hadn’t expected when she opened the door was to find a very distraught Regina.

 

“Regina,” she frowned, stepping aside to let her friend inside. “What’s wrong?” But she felt the dread settling in the pit of her stomach already; no need for explanation.

 

“Have you seen Henry?”

 

Mary Margaret stood stock still for a moment, hand still braced on the edge of the door as she thought of Henry’s fixation on heroes and rescuing.

 

“He wasn’t home when I got home from work,” the older woman explained. “I thought he might be with Archie, or maybe Emma but neither of them picked up their phones, so … I came here.”

 

Mary Margaret was finding it hard to breathe. “Oh no,” she whispered.

 

Regina’s eyes narrowed, and her voice shifted from scared to almost angry. “What is it?”

 

“Henry,” whispered Mary Margaret. “He was here. He’d accidentally let Eva out of her cage, and she flew off.” She twisted her ring around her finger, talking faster and faster like a child admitting to breaking her mother’s china. “I told him not to worry and that we’d find her. I meant that we’d put up flyers.” She emphasized this by holding up the freshly made flyer for Regina to see. “I didn’t think he’d mean we should go _looking_ for her.”

 

Regina was quiet for a long moment, and then at last, calmly - too calmly - she asked, “When did you last see him?”

 

“About three hours ago,” Mary Margaret answered, suddenly feeling very small. “I dropped him off at your house and told him not to leave until you got home.”

 

“And you believed him?” Regina demanded, raising her voice. “Him? The boy who stole _your_ credit card to find his goddamn birth mother? And you left him alone? After filling his head with these stupid stories about heroics and princes and princesses finding each other?”

 

“I -- I didn’t think--”

 

“Exactly!” Regina yelled, ripping the paper from the younger woman’s hand and throwing it aside. “You didn’t think! You never think! God knows where Henry is now, and it’s all your fault.”

 

Mary Margaret flinched. _It’s all my fault._ “Regina--”

 

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” Regina seethed, though her voice was now laced with tears. “First Daniel, now my son?”

 

_It should have been me._ Mary Margaret ventured to reach out a hand to lay against her friend’s arm. “Regina--”

 

Regina swatted her hand away taking a step back. “No,” she said firmly, and moved back toward the door. “Stay away from me. Stay away from us.”

 

“Regina, please …” Mary Margaret moved to follow her but instead found the door slamming in her face.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had she been so _stupid_? She’d just _had_ to get the bird to rub it in Regina’s face. She’d just _had_ to insist that wing-clipping was inhumane, even though this was a bird she was trusting with _children_. And she’d just _had_ to leave Henry alone. Normally, she’d assume that a child in Storybrooke could only get so far, but Henry had already proven her wrong on that account, and she should have _known_.

 

And now she’d gone and messed up again, putting yet another person she loves in danger.

 

She tried Emma’s number again, and after seven rings, it went to voicemail. Again.

 

She’d already left three voicemails, having grabbed her coat and jacket and left the apartment at a dead run, not entirely knowing where she should be going or what she should be doing, only that she had to do _something_ to fix this.

 

“Come on, Emma,” she said impatiently, dialing her roommate’s number again. “Come on, pick up.” She stopped in front of the library, winded, and struggled to catch her breath as the phone rang.

 

Six rings in, and Emma picked up. “Hey,” she said, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Henry’s missing,” Mary Margaret blurted, telling the story in a rush. “He lost Eva and came to tell me, and I told him we’d find her and I dropped him off at home but Regina got home and he wasn’t there and--”

 

“Hold on,” her friend cut in, voice rising in panic. “Henry’s _missing_?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” said Mary Margaret, tears stinging her eyes. “I didn’t think he’d run off. I told him to stay put but I should have known--”

 

“Hey,” said Emma, more gently this time. “It’s not your fault. But you need to calm down and tell me everything you know.”

 

Mary Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath, and began explaining. She made her way slowly to the hospital, pausing for a moment as she peered around the park for any sign of her lost student. “... I’m out looking now,” she said, finishing her story. “I think Regina’s on her way to the station to file a report.” She sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead. “God, Emma, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Hey, no,” Emma replied, trying to be firm, but her voice still held the uncertainty of a mother fearing for her child. “We’re going to find him, okay? Just … get a head start on us and start asking around if anyone’s seen him. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

 

“Okay,” Mary Margaret replied, uneasy still at her friend’s tone. She chewed on the side of her thumbnail, pacing nervously. “Thanks, Emma.”

 

The line went dead, and Mary Margaret thought for a moment about where Henry might go. Archie hadn’t seen him; neither had Graham or Emma, apparently. A longshot, but maybe worth it - she dialed Killian’s number, fidgeting as she waited for him to pick up.

 

“I’m not wearing the uniform again,” he said immediately upon answering.

 

“Are you at the docks?” she asked quickly, ignoring him. She didn’t have time for his attitude right now, and certainly no time for his flirting.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Have you seen Henry?” she asked hopefully. “Emma’s son.”

 

“You mean the mayor’s kid?”

 

A wave of relief washed through her. “You’ve seen him?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied. “But not here. Why? What’s going on?”

 

“He’s missing,” she said by way of explanation. “Where did you see him? And when?”

 

“Isn’t this the same kid who stole your credit card and ran away to Boston? Sounds like he needs a leash.”

 

“Killian.”

 

“About an hour ago,” he replied. “I was getting some coffee at Granny’s and saw him walking the other way. Toward the hospital, I think?”

 

Mary Margaret let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and started on her way to the hospital, picking up her pace. She dodged a puddle as she scurried across the street. “Thanks,” she breathed. “You’ve been a big help,” and hung up before he could keep her on the line for any more of his flirty banter.

 

She rounded the hospital grounds, stopping occasionally to pull a passerby aside, asking if they’d seen a boy wandering alone. After the sixth person shook their heads regretfully and wished her luck, she began to panic again.

 

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and dialed, breath catching in her throat when David’s voice came on the line, laced with concern. “Mary Margaret?”

 

“David,” she said breathlessly, walking faster. “I need your help.”

 

She could hear the muffled sounds of him quite literally dropping everything and searching for his keys. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”  
  


“I’m fine,” she lied, because there was nothing ‘fine’ about a missing student, nothing ‘fine’ about the panic rising within her. “But Henry’s missing. I think he’s trying to find Eva.”

 

“Where are you?” She heard the jingling of his keys clearly now, and the sound of doors opening and closing.

 

“By the hospital, near the forest,” she explained, looking around as she stumbled down the path. “Killian saw him come this direction about an hour ago, but no-one here has--” She came grinding to a halt, staring dumbly at a familiar grey-and-red scarf caught on a branch on the edge of the forest.

 

“Mary Margaret?”

 

She was still for a moment longer, and then she was running into the forest, dodging branches and fallen trees as she struggled to keep her feet beneath her. She disconnected the call, no room at all for any other thought than that of finding Henry.

 

“Mary Mar--”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret had no skills in tracking. She was fairly certain that even given a map and a compass and dropped in this forest, she would likely starve. But she ran regardless, pushed ever onward by the uneasy feeling in her stomach that Henry was in trouble, some hidden maternal instinct insisting that she could find him.

 

She had to find him.

 

Then suddenly her toe caught something on the forest floor, sending her sprawling on the ground. She pushed herself to her knees, groaning, and looked back at what she’d tripped over.

 

Henry’s backpack.

 

“Henry!” she called out, staggering to her feet and gathering her purse. “Henry, can you hear me?”

 

She pushed onward, calling out his name until her throat was raw and her legs were shaking beneath her. He was out here. Alone. Because of her. And now, worst of all, she was hopelessly lost. What a fine job she’d done of playing hero - now Emma and Graham had botha ten-year-old boy _and_ an inept schoolteacher to find.

 

Sighing, she leaned against the nearest tree and sank to the ground. “Henry,” she said mournfully, burying her face in her hands, “where _are_ you?”

 

Silence at first, and then a distant voice. “Miss Blanchard?”

 

Henry.

 

“Miss Blanchard?”

 

She scrambled to her feet in an instant. “Henry?” she called, trying to keep her voice as calm and reassuring as possible. “Henry, honey, where are you?” She moved in the direction of his voice, keeping quiet so as to hear him.

 

“I’ve almost got her!”

 

“Henry--”

 

She pushed past a particularly dense patch of trees and then stopped, frozen in place. There was Henry, balancing unsteadily on the limb of a tree, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet to reach for Eva, perched on a branch above him.

 

And there, just a few yards away, was the drop-off.

 

\--

 

_Mary Margaret blinks at her father, the anesthesia still blanketing her in a warm haze of numbness. “What happened?” she croaks._

 

_He moves his hand to her face, pushing back her bangs and she hisses as his fingertips brush over the deep gash there. “You were in a car accident,” he explains, voice unsteady._

 

_A car accident._

 

_The bridge. The ice. The blood._

 

“ _Regina,” she murmurs, gaining clarity. “Where’s Regina? Is she okay?”_

 

“ _She’s in surgery,” her father says uneasily, and his hand moves to clasp hers once more. But there’s something more. “She’ll be fine.”_

 

“ _And Daniel?” she asks, though somehow she already knows. There’s an ache in the pit of her stomach, and her heart races, the heart rate monitor beeping rapidly in response._

 

“ _Sweetheart …”_

 

_And all at once she’s a frightened little girl again. Her voice breaks. “Daddy? Please tell me …”_

 

_He hesitates. Her father has never lied to her - not when she was eight years old and asking why mommy was so sad, and not when she was ten years old, wondering when mommy was coming home. “Your car was balanced on a cliff,” he explains gently. “They got you out in time, but … it slipped. Daniel was still inside.”_

 

_The sob comes before she’s fully processed the information, and then all at once the world is in sharp focus, the haze of anesthesia now merely a fond memory. She moves to sit up, and cries out at the ripping pain in her abdomen, but then she’s in her father’s arms._

 

“ _It’s okay,” he soothes against her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”_

 

_But she isn’t a child anymore. She knows very well that nothing will be okay ever again._

 

\--

 

“I knew I could find her.”

 

The sound of Henry’s voice broke her from her reverie. “Henry,” said Mary Margaret, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’ve almost got her!” he said again, reaching up for the bird. Mary Margaret watched as the soles of his sneakers, wet with mud, slid over the bark.

 

“Henry,” she instructed gently, approaching the tree. She was already on the down-slope leading to the drop-off, her shoes sliding in the mud with each step. “You need to come down, okay? We’ve found her. We’ll get someone to get her down. I promise.”

 

“But I can almost reach her,” he insisted, bouncing up on the balls of his feet again to reach for the bird. “Just let me--” His muddy sneakers slipped. The branch broke with a loud creak. Frightened, Eva fluttered away. Henry went sprawling across the now teetering limb, arms and legs wrapped around it, clinging with all his might.

 

Mary Margaret rushed forward, dropping her purse while her feet nearly sliding out from under her. “Henry!”

 

Henry looked down at her, the usually cheerful if but a tad precocious boy reduced to a frightened child. “Miss Blanchard?”

 

_Snap._

 

The branch buckled more beneath Henry’s weight, tilting toward the steep slope that dead-ended at the cliff.

 

She mustered all the confidence she had, smiling reassuringly at the boy. “I’m right here, Henry,” she said, approaching slowly now. “It’s gonna be all right. I’m going to get you down, okay?”

 

She eyed the tree for a moment, once again regretting her lack of participation in gym class. She wasn’t sure she’d ever climbed a tree in her life, but she’d spent many an afternoon watching her students scramble up too-thin branches, and just as many bandaging scrapes and icing bruises afterwards. She was certain there was a right and a wrong way to do this, but she didn’t have time to contemplate that, and - most of all - she couldn’t betray her fear to Henry.

 

So she took a running start, her slippery shoes refusing to gain purchase on the bark, and fell backwards. Her head smacked the ground, _hard_ , and she blinked several times, watching as the branch wobbled above her, Henry balanced precariously on top.

 

He stared down at her with wide, frightened eyes. “Miss Blanchard?”

 

“It’s okay,” she said, reassuring herself just as much as she was him. She stood unsteadily and approached the tree again. “Just hold on.” She rounded the tree, away from the slope, finding a knot at about waist height. Uncertainly, she wedged her foot against it and pushed up, scrambling her hands up the bark of the tree until she caught hold of the first stable branch. Taking a deep breath - _inhale; exhale_ \- she pushed up with her legs, managing to haul herself onto the branch. So far, so good. She repeated the process, inching her way up the tree until she was at Henry’s level.

 

Henry’s limb teetered under his weight, rocking from side to side in the wind.

 

“Okay, Henry,” she said, breathless and trembling, and pulled herself to standing, balanced unsteadily on one branch while she held on to one up above with one hand, reaching the other out toward Henry. “Take my hand.”

 

Trusting as always, Henry dared to release his grip on his own branch, locking his hand around her wrist as she did the same to his.

 

_Snap._

 

His grip tightened.

 

“Do you see that branch below me?”

 

Henry broke eye contact just long enough to look for it, then turned back to her, nodding.

 

“I’m going to swing you down onto it, okay?” She bit her lip, hoping that her uncertainty and fear weren’t as obvious to Henry as they were to her. “I’m not going to let go of you, and you don’t let go of me. It’s going to be all right.”

 

He nodded again.

 

“All right, on the count of three, let go.” Mary Margaret braced herself, tightening her hold on both the tree and the boy. “One … two … three.”

 

The broken branch creaked as it was relieved of Henry’s weight. Mary Margaret pulled, holding onto her student with bruising strength. Henry grappled at the trunk of the tree with his free hand, until he finally landed on the safer branch below.

 

Mary Margaret breathed - _inhale; exhale_ \- and released his hand, slumping against the trunk of the tree.

 

“Now let’s get down,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “But be careful.”

 

Slowly and without incident, they made their way down the tree. Mere seconds after her feet hit solid ground, Mary Margaret found her arms full of Henry, clinging tightly to her waist. She returned the embrace with equal fervor, wrapping one arm tightly around his shoulders and threading the fingers of her other hand through his hair.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her jacket. “I just thought -- I made a mistake and I wanted to fix it.”

 

“Oh, Henry,” she breathed, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss against the top of his head. She’d almost lost him today; Emma, Regina, they all had. “All that matters is that you’re safe.”

 

They stayed like that for a moment longer, before she pulled away, ruffling his hair. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to town and let your moms know you’re all right.” She moved to fetch her purse from where she’d dropped it earlier. “They must be worried si--”

 

She slid, the mud under her shoes giving way as she tumbled down the incline, unable to maintain traction on the slick ground around her.

 

“Miss Blanchard!”

 

For a brief moment, all she felt was air, weightless, until she finally caught onto something - a root growing out from the edge of the cliff. She swung her legs, trying to get purchase on the cliff-face, anything to pull herself up, but it was hopeless, her legs meeting nothing but air.

 

She braved a glance downward and immediately regretted it. The drop looked to be about thirty feet - maybe forty? It could be twenty? She never had been good at judging distances - the river rushing below her.

 

Her hands slipped.

 

Henry appeared, peering from over the edge of the incline. “I’m coming, Miss Blanchard!”  
  
“No!” she called back in a rush, her hands - damp with sweat and dew - fighting to maintain her grip. “Henry, you’re not strong enough to pull me up.”

 

“But--”

 

“No,” she said firmly, trying to remain calm for his sake. “Henry, I need you to go get help, okay? My cell phone is in my purse. Take it and head towards town until you get a signal. Then call Emma. Can you do that for me?”

 

Henry looked on the verge of tears. “But what about you?”

 

“I can hold on until then,” she lied, offering him a reassuring smile. Her grip was failing already, hands cramped from climbing the tree. She grunted in frustration, trying to get a better hold, but only slipping further. No, she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, but she couldn’t let Henry watch her die. “But you’ve got to hurry. You can be a real hero today.”

 

“Okay,” he replied, uncertainly, and turned to leave.

 

“Henry?” she called out, needing just one more moment.

 

He turned back to her. “Yeah?”

 

“Tell your mom,” she swallowed, unable to hold back the tears any longer, “tell her that I’m sorry?”

 

And somehow, despite his precociousness and naive ideals, Henry showed maturity beyond his years, casting her a look that was clearly ‘goodbye’ and promising solemnly, “I will,” before he turned and ran back toward town.

 

She listened to his retreat, waiting for him to be out of earshot before she finally broke down in childish fear, choking on a strangled sob.

 

It had been her fault. She should have just driven them home. She shouldn’t have snuck out at midnight. She should have been more careful.

 

It had been her fault. She should have never adopted the bird, never tried to thumb her nose at Regina. She should have never let Henry take Eva home, never left him alone.

 

At least, she thought, this time, she would be the only one to pay the consequences for her actions.

 

A flutter of wings, and she looked up to find Eva alighting on a nearby tree.

 

And as she finally lost her grip, Mary Margaret thought that perhaps she was always meant to die here.


	16. Interlude: Mary Margaret

_Mary Margaret watches the people come and go, watches as they offer sympathetic glances and reassuring hugs to her father. She’s old enough to understand, smart enough to listen in and clever enough to connect the dots, but they talk as if she isn’t there at all._

 

“At least the surgery’s over.”

 

“She’s strong. She’ll make it through.”

 

“The chemo will work. You’ll see.”

 

_The door opens again, and Mr. Mills walks in; he’s got a package wrapped in pink paper tucked under his arm, and a teenage girl following close behind. She’s always liked Mr. Mills - the kind, old man would always bring her sweets and little toys when she would be stuck in her father’s office. He smiles at her, but is quickly drawn away by her father._

 

_The girl slips away though, and sits on the stair beside her with the pink package in her lap. “Hi,” she says in a gentle - yet not patronizing - tone. “I’m Regina. What’s your name?”_

 

“ _Mary Margaret,” she replies, eyeing the older girl warily._

 

“ _It’s nice to meet you, Mary Margaret,” Regina says, and holds out her hand._

 

_Mary Margaret shakes it carefully. No-one has ever treated her like an adult before. “You don’t need to lie to me,” she says, skipping to the point. “I know my mom’s sick.”_

 

_Regina looks sad at that. “And everyone’s treating you like you’re stupid, right?”_

 

_Mary Margaret nods._

 

“ _Well, I don’t think you’re stupid.”_

 

“ _Really?”_

 

“ _Really,” says Regina, before slipping the package onto the younger girl’s lap. “Here. My dad got this for you.”_

 

_Mary Margaret rips through the wrapping paper to reveal a brand new Scrabble set._

 

“ _It’s my favorite game,” Regina says. “Do you know how to play?”_

 

_Mary Margaret shakes her head. “No,” she says._

 

“ _Then let me teach you.”_

 

\--

 

“Oh my god … over here!”

 

\--

 

_She should have known that the guy was a jerk to begin with, that he’d only asked her to the dance as some sort of prank. She should have known that he would go off and smoke behind the building with his friends, that he would be all handsy with that other girl._

 

_But she didn’t, and she’d come to the dance anyway._

 

_So she sits on the curb, face in her hands and surrounded by layers of tulle, feeling sorry for herself._

 

“ _What’s a pretty girl like you doing looking so sad?”_

 

_Mary Margaret glances up to find Daniel stepping out of his car, rounding it with a sympathetic smile._

 

“ _Daniel?” She scrambles to her feet, smoothing out her dress wiping away the tearful smudges of her makeup._

 

“ _A little birdie told me you were having a rough time,” he explains as he wraps her up in his arms. “Thought I’d come be your knight in shining armor.”_

 

“ _Thank you,” she murmurs against his shoulder. “You didn’t have to-”_

 

“ _But I wanted to,” he says, cutting her off. He pulls back to wipe away her mascara with his sleeve. “What do you say we get you cleaned up, and I can take you out for ice cream. Can’t let a pretty dress like this go to waste.”_

 

\--

 

“I need an ambulance …”

 

\--

 

_Graham smiles at her, that ever-patient, ever-loving smile that makes her stomach flip. His lips are swollen and his eyes are dark with desire._

 

“ _I’ve never done this before,” she says softly, smiling as he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. His hand trails down the curve of her neck to her shoulder, fingers grazing the thin strap of her slip._

 

“ _You know we don’t have to do this,” he says, moving his hand back to cup her cheek. “I don’t want to unless you’re sure.”_

 

“ _I’m sure,” she says, but her voice is thin._

 

_His eyes are on hers as he moves a hand to her knee, then slowly draws it up her thigh and past her hip. It isn’t the action itself she’s worried about, but the insecurity of being undressed. She’s never been a vain girl, but as his fingertips ghost across her waist, the thin material pulling away, her breath hitches and every muscle stiffens._

 

_He withdraws his hand. “Mary Margaret-”_

 

“ _No,” she says insistently, palm flat against his bare chest. “I want to, but-” The scars, she thinks._

 

“ _I understand,” he whispers. “You can keep it on.” He smoothes his hand over the silk of her slip and closes his mouth over hers._

 

\--

 

“... help’s coming.”

 

\--

 

_Maine in February is cold. No, more than cold -_ frigid _. But somehow the lumpy backseat of her car is more appealing than listening to the sounds her roommate and her boyfriend are making on the top bunk. (At least, she hopes it’s her boyfriend.)_

 

_But two blankets, two heating pads and a sleeping bag later, she’s satisfied that she’ll make it through the night._

 

_She’s just falling asleep when there’s a tapping on her window. She blinks up at it - the familiar face of her chem lab partner frowning back at her._

 

“ _Killian,” she murmurs sleepily as she opens the door, “what are you doing here?”  
_

“ _I could ask you the same question,” he points out. “Why are you sleeping in your car?”_

 

“ _Well my room is sort of …_ occupied _right now,” she explains uncomfortably._

 

“ _Ah,” he says, his understanding evident. “You’ve been ‘sexiled’.”_

 

_She snorts softly, pulling her blankets more firmly around her shoulders to brace against the cold._

 

“ _You’re in luck, though,” he tells her, leaning his hip against the car. “I’ve got a futon back at my apartment that’s just gathering dust. It’s yours, if you want it.”_

 

_She eyes him suspiciously for a moment. They’re hardly friends, but the prospect of a warm bed is not something to be considered lightly. “Why are you helping me?”_

 

_He offers his hand. “Because pretty girls shouldn’t be sleeping in cars.”_

 

\--

 

“Is she okay? Is she going to be okay?”

 

“Henry … Henry … don’t look, okay? Don’t look.”

 

\--

 

“ _Goodbye, Father,” she whispers, lingering at the grave. A heart attack. But, she thinks, perhaps it was simply a broken heart. She places a single white rose atop the casket, then turns, summoning her resolve to hold it together until she’s home._

 

“ _Mary Margaret--”_

 

_She turns to find Graham standing a few paces away._

 

_Three years._

 

_She isn’t strong enough for this. “Graham, I--”_

 

“ _I just wanted to offer my condolences,” he says, cutting her off. “Your father was a good man.”_

 

“ _He was,” she agrees, and the use of the past tense strikes a chord within her. She chokes back a sob._

 

_Graham pulls her into his arms then - a warm, familiar gesture. “He loved you very much.”_

 

_They stay like this for a long moment, her fingers caught up in the fabric of his jacket as she fights back the urge to cry._

 

_Something bumps into their legs._

 

_She pulls away from Graham, and looks down to find a little boy, no older than three years old, sprawled on the ground at her feet. She kneels to help him up, smoothing his jacket and straightening his little tie. “Hello there,” she says, trying to smile even as she sniffs back the tears. “Are you all right?”_

 

_The boy nods shyly. “Have you seen my mommy?”_

 

_She doesn’t recognize him, but then again she’s been gone so long she wouldn’t. Probably the child of one of her father’s friends._

 

_Graham stiffens behind her. “Mary Margaret--”_

 

_She ignores him, taking the child’s hands in her own. “I don’t know,” she says. “But we can find her together. What’s your name?”_

 

_The boy looks at her uncertainly for a moment before answering. “Henry,” he says in a small voice._

 

\--

 

“She’s breathing. Get that ambulance here. _Now_.”

 

\--

 

“ _You know my problem with these movies?”_

 

_Mary Margaret takes a sip of her wine to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What’s that?”_

 

_Emma waves her own wine glass at the TV, playing an old animated version of_ Sleeping Beauty _. “The parents are always arranging marriages and treating their daughters like property.”_

 

“ _Well,” Mary Margaret chuckles, “that’s kind of a historical thing.”_

 

_Emma shakes her head emphatically. “Shouldn’t parents be teaching their kids things? Don’t movies like this send a message that girls are just … possessions or something?”_

 

_Mary Margaret laughs. “My parents raised me on fairy tales, and they would_ never _have auctioned me off to the highest bidder.”_

 

_Emma throws a piece of popcorn in her direction. “Maybe you just had good parents.”_

 

“ _Maybe,” Mary Margaret agrees, and returns fire. “What were your parents like? Did they ever try to sell you off to some prince?”  
_

_Emma grows serious. “I don’t have any.”_

 

“ _Don’t have any what?” Mary Margaret frowns._

 

“ _Parents.”_

 

“ _Sure you do,” Mary Margaret insists. “Everyone has parents.”_

 

_Emma scoops up a handful of popcorn and picks at it slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Technically, yes. Not everyone knows who they are.”_

 

_Mary Margaret is quiet for a moment, considering this. She’d always wondered why Emma was so quiet about her past. “Emma,” she says at last, softly, “I’m so sorry.”_

 

_Emma shrugs, then offers her a hesitant smile. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “I’m making my own family now.”_

 

\--

 

“No no no no no, I _found_ you. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

\--

 

_Mary Margaret watches with a smile as David hoists Henry above his head, spinning him around before setting him back down in front of the door, where Emma is waiting for him with his backpack and coat._

 

“ _At least he’ll sleep well tonight,” Emma teases David, waiting for Henry to tug on his coat. “I think Regina will be grateful.”_

 

_David laughs. “Glad to be of service.”_

 

_Emma grins. “Okay, kid,” she says, steering her son out the door. “Time to get you home.”_

 

“ _Bye, Miss Blanchard!” Henry calls out as they leave. “Bye, Mr. Nolan!”_

 

_Mary Margaret giggles. “Bye Henry. See you tomorrow.”_

 

_The door closes behind them, and David leans against the counter as she finishes with the dishes. “Need any help?”_

 

“ _You could dry?” she offers._

 

_He wordlessly flings a dishtowel over his shoulder and sets to work. “That was fun,” he comments._

 

“ _It was,” she agrees. “I’m glad Emma gets dinner with him once a week. I think it’s good for her. Good for him too.”_

 

“ _Mm,” he hums._

 

_She’s quiet for a moment, then smiles shyly at him as she hands him a plate. “You’re good with him.”_

 

“ _I like kids.” He pauses for a moment, working the towel over the plate. “What about you?”_

 

“ _Like kids?” She teases. “I’d hope so. I only spend six hours a day with them.”_

 

_Setting aside the plate, he playfully snaps the dishtowel at her. “You know what I mean. Do you ever think about … kids of your own?”_

 

_She stills for a moment, focused on the mug she’s washing as she feels the blood rush to her cheeks. “Yes,” she says softly, then dares to look at him. “And you?”_

 

“ _Yes,” he says shyly, then meets her eyes in a moment more intimate than she’d expected. “With you? Definitely.”_

 

\--

 

“Come back to me … please …”


	17. Chapter Fourteen

Heavy. Everything felt _heavy_ , all the way from her limbs and her eyelids to the weight on her chest - just _heavy_. It didn’t lift, not even as the numbness faded and gave way first to a dull ache and at last to steady, stabbing, _throbbing_ pain. Her head, her chest, her stomach, her left leg. Every breath sent a sharp twinge of pain to her left side, and she gasped softly, feeling her body begin to respond to her mind.

 

“ _You can’t just waltz into this hospital like you own the place.”_

 

“ _As mayor, I think I have some right.”_

 

“ _No, actually. You don’t. Don’t you see the signs? ICU. Family only.”_

 

“ _She has no family. Those two in there are the closest she’s got.”_

 

She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the dim light. The hospital.She was in the hospital. She turned her head, hissing at the stiffness in her neck, and blinked once, twice, pulling the world into focus.

 

Emma was there, curled like a cat in the chair beside her bed, lost in fitful sleep.

 

Mary Margaret looked past her then, out through the glass walls of the room where Regina was standing opposite Dr. Whale, arms folded resolutely over her chest as she continued to argue with him.

 

“ _I at least get some say as her emergency contact, don’t I?”_

 

“ _Actually, no …”_

 

Graham stood a few paces behind her, hands settled firmly on his hips - the lawman, clearly taking a side.

 

But what made her heart break was to find Henry folding himself in a chair behind them, eyes red and chest heaving with tears he’d long since shed, Killian knelt before him with his hand on the little boy’s shoulder. Oh, Henry. She couldn’t bear the thought of the boy carrying this guilt with him forever, thinking that her blood was on his hands.

 

“Emma,” she croaked, her voice sounding foreign and her mouth on fire.

 

Emma stirred, slowly at first as if fighting a dream, and then bolted awake, blinking at her with large, bloodshot eyes.

 

How strange, she thought. She’d never seen her roommate cry.

 

“Mary Margaret?” Emma breathed, coming to kneel beside the bed and clasping her friend’s hand carefully within her own.

 

“Emma,” said Mary Margaret, a little louder and more sure of herself this time. She licked her lips; they were dry and chapped. “What happened? I remember Henry, and … and the cliff. I’m alive?”

 

Emma let out a laugh that sounded closer to a sob. “Yes,” she said, and though there were tears in her eyes, it was the happiest she’d ever seen her. “Yes, you are.”

 

Mary Margaret licked her lips again, parched. “Water?” she said, and tried to lift her head, but was greeted instead with shooting pain. “Hurts.”

 

Emma squeezed her hand. “Okay, just -- let me tell the doctor you’re awake.”

 

“You’ll come back?” She held on weakly to her friend’s hand, reluctant to let go.

 

“I promise,” Emma nodded.

 

Her other hand was still heavy, still reluctant to move, and when she looked over - an action that required more effort than she’d ever deemed necessary - she found David huddled up against the bed, head pillowed in his arms as his hand firmly clasped her own.

 

“David?” she whispered, and drew her fingers around his. He was here. Despite everything that had happened - every foolish and selfish thing she’d said to him, every time she’d refused to accept his apology - he was here. Tears stung at her eyes, though whether they were from the overwhelming emotion springing from David’s presence or from the escalating pain that permeated her body, she couldn’t tell. “David,” she tried again, a little louder.

 

He woke, lifting his head and blinking at her as if he were still dreaming. “Mary Margaret?” he breathed.

 

“David,” she replied, and gripped his hand even more tightly. Her strength was returning, just enough to feel her knuckles whiten as she held onto him as if she were falling.

 

“Oh, thank god,” he choked, moving at once to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, their clasped hands pressed lovingly over his heart. He touched her cheek carefully. “I thought-” he broke off, tears in his eyes.

 

And then Dr. Whale was there, flanked by two nurses - Clare? - gently trying to move David out of the way.

 

“You found me,” she whispered, holding fast to him. “You found me and you came.”

 

A nurse pushed a syringe of fluid into her IV port. It burned for a moment, then gave way to glorious numbness. Her vision grew fuzzy around the edges as she fought the sudden urge to sleep.

 

He couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. “Of course I did,” he said, voice breaking. “Did you ever doubt I would?”

 

“Mm,” she hummed, feeling her hand slip from his as the morphine took effect. “Never.”

 

\--

 

She squinted against the light streaming through the windows, so different from the darkness and the haze.

 

She turned, vision blurring at the movement then sharpening again on David’s form. He was passed out in a chair beside her, legs outstretched and head lolled backward.

 

Behind him, on the other side of the window, Regina looked on mournfully.

 

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to say something, but instead found the darkness overtaking her once more, eyelids too heavy to remain open.

 

\--

 

 

She blinked, gazing uncertainly at the ceiling before her eyes focused.

 

“Hey.”

 

She turned, whimpering softly at the discomfort the movement caused her. “Emma?”

 

Emma nodded, then moved to perch on the bed beside her. “Good morning,” she smiled, but her eyes and face were tired.

 

“How long have I--”

 

“Too long,” she replied sadly, pouring some water into a plastic cup. “Thirsty?”

 

“Mm,” she nodded, her throat going dry as if just now remembering.

 

Emma slipped an arm carefully beneath her shoulders, lifting her so she could take a few glorious sips before settling back against the pillow.

 

“Better?”

 

“Mm,” she hummed again, the darkness taking over once more.

 

\--

 

She groaned a little, exhausted but distracted by the throbbing pain in her leg and head, but still clinging to sleep.

 

“Hey.”

 

David. His fingertips were stroking up and down her arm - she’d know his touch anywhere.

 

“Hey,” she replied, opening her eyes and smiling weakly.

 

He leaned forward to press a careful kiss to her forehead. “Think you can eat some?”

 

She nodded, then winced at the sharp pain in her head.

 

“The nurse said you should try if you felt up to it,” he said, helping her to sit up. “I’m sorry the food isn’t better.”

 

She blinked at him as he stirred a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Why are you here?” she frowned.

 

He stilled. “I’m … taking care of you,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “Emma and I are taking shifts.” He paused for a moment, a lump of mashed potatoes balanced on his spoon. “... is -- is that okay? I can leave -- if you don’t want me here.”

 

“I do,” she said softly. “Want you here, I mean. I do.”

 

The tension seemed to leave his shoulders then, and he smiled. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Sore,” she responded, though it was the understatement of the year. Compared to the crash when she was sixteen …

 

She didn’t want to think about that.

 

He chuckled softly. “Falling off a cliff will do that,” he said, and despite the mirth in his voice, his eyes were sad, lingering over her injuries.

 

“David--”

 

He shook himself, replacing that far-off look with one of amusement as he waved the spoon at her like a father feeding his child. “Open up.”

 

\--

 

Alive. She was alive.

 

“ _Your left fibula was essentially shattered, and your tibia was broken in two places. Your left femur was also fractured.”_

 

It was the first truly lucid thought she’d had in days. As the blissful haze of drugs wore off, her waking hours seemed less and less like a far-off dream, and gradually more punctuated by the insistent pain that reminded her that she was, indeed, alive.

 

“ _You also managed to crack three ribs, and collapsed your left lung. There was also some internal bleeding, but we were able to repair the damage with surgery. There should be no permanent damage.”_

 

While listening to Whale rattle off her impressive list of injuries, she began to wonder _how_. Everything hurt, and moving was a chore she simply avoided at all costs. She hadn’t dared to check her incisions yet, but she felt them with every tug of her flesh as she struggled to sit up, and hissed sharply at the pain that followed a change of dressings.

 

“ _The real danger was the trauma to your head. You suffered a severe spike in intracranial pressure, and we had to make a burr hole to relieve it. Though luckily it seems there is no permanent damage there either.”_

 

It was strange to be here with Whale alone, and part of her began to wonder if it really had been a dream - in all she could remember of the past days, there wasn’t an instant that Emma or David hadn’t been at her side. But then she glanced to the window, and smiled to see David hovering just outside the door, smiling nervously back at her.

 

“ _You were very lucky. It seems you were able to slow your fall. Do you remember any of that?”_

 

Oh, someone was asking her something. “Hmm?”

 

Whale frowned, eyeing her warily. “Do you remember anything about the fall? After you let go?”

 

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. No, the last she remembered was the root slipping from her grasp and thinking that maybe fate had had a plan all along.

 

“Well, whatever happened,” said Whale, “it was nothing short of a miracle. Overall, you’ll recover fully with no major complications. We did have to use hardware to reconstruct your leg, but with physical therapy you’ll walk again. Maybe not run, but definitely walk.”

 

Hah, she thought, and fought back the urge to laugh. She could manage with that. “That’s great,” she said instead, and found her eyes drifting to the window again, meeting David’s gaze once more.

 

Whale followed her line of sight, and upon noticing David, cleared his throat. “It seems you have a visitor,” he said, smirking. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

 

Whale left, and she saw him and David exchange a firm handshake just outside the door before the younger man peeked his head inside the door. “Good morning,” he grinned. “Would you mind some company?”

 

“Not at all,” she replied, smoothing her hair away from her face.

 

David made his way inside, dragging an over-stuffed duffel behind him. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he settled into the chair beside her bed.

 

“Better,” she replied, gazing at the bag in bewilderment. “Still a little sore, though. And what on earth is _that_?” She gestured to the duffel.

 

“Just a few things Emma and I grabbed from your room,” he explained, opening the bag and rifling through it. He stilled then, glancing up at her warily. “Is -- is that okay?”

 

“Of course,” she said, and leaned over to peer inside. The movement pulled at the incision on her abdomen and she hissed, sitting upright again. “What all did you bring?”

 

“Well, I didn’t know what was important or not, so I just sort of dumped your whole bathroom in here,” he admitted sheepishly. “I thought you might ask one of the nurses to help you clean up and you’d want your own things.”

 

One of the nurses. Right.

 

“And some pajamas,” he added. “Didn’t know which ones, but I know hospital gowns are the worst.”

 

She smiled softly at that. David had always been very thoughtful, even when she had been less than thoughtful herself. “David … this is so sweet,” she said, reaching for him as he met her halfway, clasping her hand firmly in his. “Thank you.”

 

He pressed a delicate kiss to her fingertips. “There’s one other thing,” he said, grinning mischievously now.

 

She frowned. “What’s that?”

 

He released her hand to rummage through the bag, coming up a moment later with a familiar item - her old Scrabble set.

 

“Thought maybe all the drugs might give me a chance of finally winning,” he quipped.

 

“You wish,” she shot back, smiling broadly.

 

“Game on.”

 

\--

 

Either her pain medications weren’t nearly as strong as she’d thought, or David really was _impressively awful_ at Scrabble.

 

“ ‘She’?” Mary Margaret laughed softly. “Really?”

 

“This game is rigged,” he grumbled teasingly. “Loaded dice or something.” He was trying to keep a straight face - she could tell - but he was cracking a smile all the same.

 

“The game doesn’t even _have_ dice!” she replied, laughing harder until the action pulled at her stitches. She groaned quietly at the pain, but waved him off quickly when he tried to rush to her aid.

 

“Oh, right,” he said, feigning ignorance as he sat back down. “I was just testing you. Head injury, you know.”

 

She chucked her Q-tile at him for that and giggled when he rubbed the spot on his forehead where it had hit. “Ow! Now _I_ might need brain surgery,” he teased.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said fondly.

 

“You love it.”

 

She startled at that, breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him shyly.

 

He was staring at her, mouth agape, clearly having not meant to say that out loud. “I -- I mean--” he stammered.

 

She rescued him by laying out four of her tiles.

 

D-E-L-A-Y

 

“Delay,” she said proudly. “On a double word, so eighteen points.”

 

He swallowed thickly as he recorded her score, then slowly laid out four of his own tiles, working off of the ‘Y’ she’d just placed.

 

S-O-R-R-Y

 

She gasped softly, staring dumbly at the word before meeting his eyes, vulnerable and honest as he gazed back at her.

 

“I am,” he whispered, and reached over to cover her hand with his.

 

“David--” she choked.

 

“No, let me say this,” he said, cutting her off. “I should have told you the truth. We were in this together, and I made a decision without you. I was wrong.”

 

“David,” she murmured, voice unsteady. “You -- you shouldn’t be apologizing. I should.” She swallowed thickly, turning her hand over to clasp his tightly. “I was -- angry. And hurt. But I shouldn’t have cut you out. Not entirely.” Unable to hold back the tears, she admitted quietly, “We could have worked through it. I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, moving the table out of the way so he could sit on the edge of the bed, stroking the tears away with his thumbs. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay?” His voice was gentle yet firm, his eyes begging her to understand. “Nothing. I messed up and you had every right.”

 

“But--”

 

“No,” he insisted, moving his hand to comb his fingers through her hair. “No ‘buts',” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re perfect.”

 

She leaned against him, relaxing as his arms came carefully around her, wrapping her in the safety of his embrace. “I missed you so much,” she breathed, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

 

“I missed you too,” he sighed, tightening his arms around her as much as he dared. “But,” he said nervously, “if you're still willing, I'd like a second chance.”

 

She let out a small sob of laughter at that, pulling away enough to look into his eyes. “Of course,” she said, trying to convey almost two months of longing into only a few words. “But only if I get a second chance as well.”

 

He needed no further invitation, and leaned down to press his lips softly against hers, kissing her carefully as if she might shatter. In turn, she slipped a hand round the back of his neck, pulling him closer so she could feel him more completely. He moved to cradle her head in his hand, thumb tracing the shell of her ear.

 

And at last she felt like she was breathing again.


	18. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update after this will be the final update, an epilogue. I hope you all have enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing.

Days passed, and with them Mary Margaret’s strength began to return. Her hospital room was a constant revolving door of friendly faces - mostly Emma and David, but she’d seen Graham and Killian a few times as well, and some friends from work. It was a bit alarming to find so many people cared for her well-being, but at the very least it was a pleasant surprise.

 

David had brought her old, dog-eared copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. She’d found it sitting beside her bed upon waking this afternoon, a sticky note stuck to the covers with the words “love you” in his lazy scrawl. She traced her thumb over the writing, wondering at how much time they’ve lost. Too much, she thought sadly, but there was still much more to come.

 

“ _No children under thirteen.”_

 

“ _We’ll just be a few minutes.”_

 

She glanced up to find Emma and Henry outside her room, Whale standing resolutely in front of them, arms folded across his chest.

 

“ _I’ve already broken several hospital regulations for you.”_

 

“ _Exactly! What’s one more?”_

 

Mary Margaret caught Henry’s gaze and waved, smiling at him softly. He looked away shyly in response, pressing closer against Emma’s side.

 

_Oh._ Emma had been reluctant to tell her how Henry was doing. At first, she’d assumed it was Emma’s way of protecting her; Mary Margaret herself had done the same when her mother was ill - answering questions as vaguely and simply as possible, from the little knowledge she had to begin with. Things were easier that way. But now, seeing the guilt in Henry’s eyes that mirrored the guilt she’d carried for so many years, she understood.

 

“ _I brought the food you asked for.”_

 

She glanced up now to see Ruby joining the party outside her door, a takeout bag from Granny’s in her hand.

 

“ _What is it with you people and breaking rules?”_

 

“ _It’s just a cheeseburger …”_

 

The conversation between Whale and Ruby seemed to shift from an argument to flirty banter, and - with the good doctor distracted - Emma nabbed the takeout bag from her friend and let Henry and herself inside. “Knock knock.”

 

“Hey,” Mary Margaret smiled, setting aside her book and sitting up straighter.

 

“You look like you’re feeling better,” Emma grinned. “Something to do with that man I’ve seen sneaking around your room?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary Margaret answered with faux ignorance, then turned to Henry. “Hi Henry.”

 

“Hi,” he mumbled, still uncharacteristically shy.

 

“We brought lunch,” said Emma, holding up the takeout bag. “And something else.” She nudged Henry a little. “Do you want to give her your present?”

 

He hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly between his mother and Mary Margaret, before finally approaching the bed, holding out a folded piece of construction paper.

 

“What’s this?” It was a card, drawn and written in crayon and marker. Inside, she found a message in Henry’s messy handwriting - _Thank you for saving my life_. “Oh, Henry,” she breathed. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

 

But when she reached out to pull him into a hug, he took a step away from her, eyes downcast.

 

“Henry--”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” the boy mumbled.

 

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart aching at the sight of Henry suffering, so much like the suffering she’d endured for over a decade. She knew this; knew the nightmares, the guilt. He was so young, though. Much younger than she had been.

 

“Emma,” she said softly. “Could you--?”

 

Emma nodded, flashing her an understanding smile before ruffling Henry’s hair and stepping outside.

 

Mary Margaret watched the door close, then tried again. “Henry,” she said gently, and did her best not to show her discomfort as she shifted to one side of the narrow bed, patting the spot she’d just vacated. “Come here and sit with me for a while?”

 

Henry hesitated for a moment, looking at her undecidedly before carefully climbing up onto the bed.

 

Without hesitation, she took him in her arms, folding him into her embrace. “Okay,” she whispered, face pressed into his hair. “Talk to me.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured; his tears warm against her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Shh,” she soothed, rubbing her hand over his back in long strokes. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, okay?”

 

“But you’re hurt!” he said insistently. “You almost _died_ and it’s because you were saving _me_.”

 

“But I’m alive,” she said, voice gentle but firm. “And regardless, I would do the same thing again without a second thought.”

 

“That’s because you’re a hero,” he sniffled.

 

A hero. Huh. She hadn’t thought about it that way before.

 

“And heroes always do the right thing,” he explained. “But you could have _died_ and it would have been _my fault_.”

 

_It’s all my fault._

 

“But _I_ was the one who messed up,” he continued. “It should have been _me_.”

 

_It should have been me._

 

She’d spent over a decade devoured by those thoughts; spent most of her adulthood as a meek and mild schoolteacher instead of becoming the woman she wanted to be. All because no-one had ever bothered to absolve her of her guilt. She couldn’t get those years back, but she could spare Henry the same aching loneliness.

 

“Henry,” she breathed, and pulled away, wiping at his cheeks with her thumb. “Look at me?”

 

The boy sniffled and met her eyes, still blinking back tears.

 

“Listen to me,” she said fiercely. Normally, she kept a calm tone with her students, but she _needed_ him to understand; for her sake as well as his. “This _wasn’t your fault_. Do you understand me?” Her voice broke, and with it so did her composure, her eyes brimming with tears. “Henry, you are a kind, bright, _wonderful_ boy. And you are going to do great things one day. You may not slay dragons or rescue princesses, but I _know_ you are going to be a hero.” She cupped his face in her hands as tears spilled down her cheeks. “But right now? You’re still just a little boy. And no matter _what_ might have happened, it _wasn’t your fault_. It was an accident.”

 

“But--”

 

“Do you remember what you told me about accidents?” she said, cutting him off. “When I told you what happened between your mom and me?”

 

“That if you didn’t mean to crash that it was a mistake,” he answered. “And everyone makes mistakes.”

 

“And did you mean for this to happen?” she asked patiently.

 

He shook his head. “Of course not!”

 

“Then it was an accident. A mistake,” she said, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Do you remember what else you told me?”

 

He frowned for a moment. “About Snow White and the Evil Queen?”

 

She nodded. “And what did you tell me?”

 

“That Snow White made a mistake and the Evil Queen didn’t forgive her,” he said, leaning into her again. “But she had to learn to forgive herself.”

 

“Exactly,” said Mary Margaret, resting her head against his. “Except the difference here is that I forgive you. You did nothing wrong, but I know better than anyone that you need to hear it. So I forgive you.” She pulled away to look at him again, his cheek cupped in her hand. “Now all you have to do is forgive yourself.”

 

A gasp.

 

Mary Margaret startled, looking over to the door to find Regina standing half-in half-out of the room.

 

Henry turned too. “Mom?”

 

“Regina,” Mary Margaret breathed, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “I didn’t know--”

 

“I saw Emma in the lobby,” Regina responded tightly. “She said I would find you here.”

 

“I’m sorry I--”

 

Regina held up a hand. “It’s okay, Henry. Could you--” she paused for a moment, eyes closed. “Could you maybe ask Emma to take you for ice cream? I’d like to talk to Miss Blanchard for a moment.”

 

Henry grew tense against Mary Margaret, but she simply brushed his hair from his eyes and smiled. “Go ahead, Henry,” she said, reluctant to let him go, but knowing that she must. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

 

Henry scrambled off the bed and left, pausing only to give his mom a hug on his way out.

 

The door closed behind him, Regina still standing uncomfortably at the foot of the bed. They stared at one another for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say. They’d been here before, though their positions swapped - gazing mournfully at one another over a hospital bed. Mary Margaret hadn’t been brave enough to say anything then, and even now she found her courage failing.

 

Regina spoke first, arms folded guardedly across her chest. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” Mary Margaret answered, twisting her blanket in her fingers. “Ready to go home.”

 

“I’m sure,” Regina agreed, then cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner. I--”

 

Mary Margaret cut her off. “No, no. You had to be there for Henry. I understand.”

 

Regina pressed her lips together, hesitating at first before she took a step closer. She was quiet for a long moment, eyes downcast before finally meeting Mary Margaret’s own. “I wanted to thank you,” she said, voice breaking. “For saving my son’s life. If you hadn’t been there -- I would have lost him. So thank you.”

 

Mary Margaret looked down at her lap, hands fisted in her blanket. No no no, she thought. Regina shouldn’t be thanking her. Not after everything. “If it hadn’t been for me,” she said quietly, “he wouldn’t have been in any danger in the first place.”

 

“No,” Regina responded softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But--” Mary Margaret looked up, surprised to find tears in the older woman’s eyes.

 

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” said Regina, blinking back tears. She moved to carefully sit on the edge of the bed, swallowing over the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -- it wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

 

“Yes it was,” Mary Margaret choked. “It was.”

 

“No,” said Regina insistently, reaching to rest a hand on Mary Margaret’s. “You -- you did nothing wrong, okay? And I’m _so sorry_ for letting you think all these years that it was your fault.”

 

They weren’t just talking about the bird now, about Henry. It had always been so much more than that; their whole lives spent in a balancing act on the precipice of their friendship. “But it should have been me,” Mary Margaret insisted, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “ _I_ was the one driving. _I_ crashed the car.”

 

Regina choked back a sob, fingers tightening around the younger woman’s hand. “It was an accident. You couldn’t have known what would happen. You were so young …”

 

“Regina--”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Regina said again, more firmly this time. “And I have _never_ wished that you had died in Daniel’s place. You were -- you _are_ so important to me.”

 

Mary Margaret let out a little sob of laughter. “You were like my big sister. I looked up to you so much.”

 

“I’m sorry I let you down,” said Regina. “We’ve lost over thirteen years now.” She shook her head in a self-deprecating gesture, gaze focused on their hands. “All because I couldn’t tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Mary Margaret felt her heart break at that, wondering what her life might have been without the pain and the guilt. Different, she supposed. _She_ would be different. But for all the heartache, all the sorrow, she wouldn’t trade away the life she had now. A life with Emma, with Henry. With David. A life where Regina is still sitting right beside her, even after everything.

 

With that thought, she wordlessly pulled the other woman into her arms, face pressed into her shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” Regina murmured, her arms coming carefully around her friend to return the embrace.

 

“Me too.”

 

“We can’t change the past,” Regina whispered tearfully.

 

“No,” Mary Margaret agreed, pulling the older woman closer. “But we can change the future.”

 

\--

 

“You ready to get out of here?”

 

Mary Margaret looked up from packing her bag to find David leaning in the doorway. “What are you doing here? I thought Emma was coming to get me.”

 

“She was,” he agreed. “But something work-related came up. I told her I could bring you home and help you get settled in. I hope that’s okay.”

 

 

“Hm,” she teased, tucking a stuffed teddy bear into the duffel. “I don’t know about that. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

 

“I guess you’ll never find out then,” he winked and made as if to leave.

 

“Hey!” she laughed, tossing the teddy bear at him, giggling harder as it struck him in the face.

 

“Ow!” he chuckled, rubbing his chin. “So violent! Be careful or one of these days you’re going to leave a mark.”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, smiling as he came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, teddy bear in hand. She cradled his cheek in her hand. “I like a man with scars.”

 

He leaned down to close his mouth over hers, in a not-so-chaste kiss hello, fingertips ghosting across her neck.

 

“Mm,” she hummed against his lips. “What was that for?”

 

“Just making up for lost time.” He kissed her again, softly, then pulled away. “You all packed?” He tucked the teddy bear back into the duffel and zipped it shut.

 

“Yeah, just this and that bag over there,” she said, indicating a shopping bag containing the large collection of flowers she’d amassed over her stay. “Oh, and the crutches of course.”

 

“Crutches?” he smirked. “Really? Didn’t those not work out too well for you last time?”

 

She shoved him playfully. “Hey, I think they worked pretty well for me,” she pointed out. “I got you out of the bargain didn’t I?” He grinned at her as he pulled the wheelchair from the corner of the room up next to the bed. “And besides, my building involves too many stairs for a wheelchair.”

 

“Guess I’d better get ready for you to spill a lot of coffee then,” he said playfully, and carefully helped her into the wheelchair.

 

“Hah,” she deadpanned, settling into her seat. “Very funny.”

 

“I try,” he quipped, depositing the bag of flowers and crutches on her lap, and slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “You ready?”

 

She tipped her head back to look at him, smiling. “Think so.”

 

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering. “Let’s take you home.”

 

\--

 

David pulled the truck into park in front of Mary Margaret’s building, and smiled over at her, making no move to leave the vehicle.

 

“What?” she said, though she felt the blush creeping into her cheeks. She knew ‘what’, but for some reason she needed to hear him say it.

 

“I was just thinking about the first time we met,” he said, reaching over to take her hand in his own. He grinned then, a mischievous look in his eyes. “And how we wouldn’t have met at all if you were more athletic.”

 

She laughed. “I would be angry if it weren’t completely true.”

 

“Although I guess I should actually help you up the stairs this time,” he quipped, smiling broadly as she brought her fingertips to his lips.

 

“Aren’t you a real Prince Charming?” she teased, and leaned in to kiss him.

 

He returned the kiss, cradling her face in his palms and stroking his tongue over her lower lip. She made an impatient noise as he pulled away, forehead leaning against hers. “Ready to go in?”

 

“Yeah,” she admitted, moving her hand to cover one of his. “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed.”

 

“Well,” he grinned, pulling away and opening his door, “I think _that_ can be arranged.” He made his way around to her side and carefully scooped her up into his arms.

 

She giggled in response, looping her arms around his neck. “Hey, what about my crutches?”

 

“I am not risking you breaking your other leg on those death traps,” he said, closing the truck door with his foot. “I’ll come back down for them later.”

 

She considered arguing, but decided she was better off accepting the gesture - and besides, there was something unmistakably _right_ about being curled up and vulnerable in his arms. Settling her head against the curve of his neck, she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. Yes, she thought, she could get used to this.

 

They made their way easily up the stairs to her front door, and she regretfully lifted her head and unwound her arms to search for her key. “It’s in my pocket,” she told him, trying her best to maneuver in his arms.

 

“No need,” he smiled, adjusting her so he could manage the doorknob.

 

She frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re up to something.”

 

“Me?” he asked incredulously, eyes alight with amusement. “Whatever would make you think that?”

 

And he was, of course. He opened the door to reveal her apartment filled with friendly faces, a banner hung from the ceiling with the words ‘Welcome home, Mary Margaret!’. Henry, however, was the only one to burst out of hiding, shouting “Surprise!” when the door opened.

 

She promptly covered her face with her hands, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks. “What is this?”

 

“It’s a welcome home party,” Henry replied, clearly still not grasping the concept of a rhetorical question. “Do you like it?”

 

“I love it,” she said honestly, holding on as David moved to set her down on the couch next to Emma, who was beaming at her. “And I thought you had to work,” she told her roommate, a mock accusing tone to her voice.

 

“Yeah,” said Emma, folding her friend into her arms. “Someone had to arrange all this.”

 

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret whispered into her friend’s hair.

 

Ruby came by next, delivering a plate of food from the kitchen where Granny was trying to keep Graham’s greedy fingers away from the dessert. She caught sight then of Killian talking up Regina in the corner, an odd - if fitting - pairing if she’d ever seen one.

 

Henry clambered up onto the couch on her other side, eagerly chatting about the surprise party the class was planning for her return - and _oops_ it was supposed to be a surprise - but she assured him she would begin practicing her shocked expressions well in advance.

 

David pulled the coffee table closer, and with the help of a pillow, elevated her leg for her. “We have one other surprise for you too,” he said, beaming.

 

“Another?” she gasped. “Really, you all have done too much.”

 

“I think you’ll like this one,” her boyfriend replied. “Henry? Do you want to do the honors?”

 

The boy nodded and raced upstairs to Emma’s room, while David took the opportunity to steal his spot on the couch.

 

“What did you do?” Mary Margaret asked suspiciously, but settled against him nonetheless.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, slipping an arm around her.

 

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

 

“Look, Miss Blanchard!” Henry called as he carefully made his way back down the stairs - a birdcage in his arms.

 

Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped. “Is -- is that--?”

 

Henry deposited the cage carefully in her lap, and sure enough, there was Eva, chirping merrily at them all.

 

“Someone found her poking around that birdfeeder you have outside,” Emma explained.

 

“It’s just like you said in class,” Henry added, perching on the edge of the coffee table beside her foot. “If you love them, and they love you, they will always find you.”

 

“I guess so, Henry,” she said, choking on a sudden rush of emotion. It’s almost funny, she thought, that in the end it was her own lesson that she’d needed to learn. The proof was all around her - in the way that Emma reached forward to pull her son into her lap, in the way that Regina was smiling at her just as she had almost two decades ago. In the way that David’s arm curled protectively around her. “I guess so.”

 

\--

 

The party died down quickly, for which Mary Margaret was grateful. She was exhausted and sore, and desperate for a good night’s sleep in her own bed. Granny and Ruby had left their fridge fully stocked, for which she was also _very_ grateful. She watched tiredly from the couch, Henry nestled against her side, as Emma washed the dishes and Killian and David bustled around, cleaning up the mess.

 

“We need to head home.”

 

She blinked, then turned to find Regina kneeling beside the couch, smiling softly at her.

 

“It does seem like it’s Henry’s bedtime,” she said, stroking the sleeping boy’s hair. “Thank you for coming.”

 

“Let me know if you need anything,” said Regina. “Dinner, help around the house. Just call me okay?”

 

“Okay,” Mary Margaret choked, and reached out to pull the older woman into an awkward hug, with Henry somewhat smushed in the middle.

 

Regina pulled away and rubbed the boy’s back. “Henry?” she said softly. “Wake up, baby. Time to go.”

 

Henry groaned a little, nestling his face further into Mary Margaret’s shoulder.

 

Footsteps, and Mary Margaret looked up to find Killian standing over them. “I can help get the boy to the car if you want,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at Regina.

 

“I’d like that,” she replied, and stood, helping Killian to arrange the boy in his arms, before leading the way out of the apartment.

 

Mary Margaret giggled to herself as she watched them leave. Funny, she thought, the way things work out sometimes.

 

“I think it’s your bedtime too,” said David, approaching her as Emma finished with the dishes and slipped away to her room.

 

“So soon?” she joked, reaching for her crutches, but he cut her off by lifting her into his arms again. “You know one of these days I’m going to have to learn to use those crutches, right?” she laughed, but happily slid her arms around his neck.

 

“Maybe I just like holding you,” he replied, setting her down on the edge of her bed.

 

“Well, then,” she breathed, catching his hands in her own. “I guess I can forgive you.”

 

He hesitated a moment, drawing his thumbs across her knuckles, before leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. “Pajamas?” he whispered, leaning his head against hers.

 

“Please,” she replied, lingering a moment before releasing his hands.

 

He slipped away to find what he was looking for - a pair of old pajama pants and one of his flannel buttondown shirts - and returned, grinning. “Will these do?”

 

She smiled back. “I think so.”

 

He stood awkwardly for a moment, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Would you--” he stammered. “Would -- would you like--?”

 

“Some help?” she offered, then nodded, running her fingers over the fabric of the flannel shirt. “I would.”

 

He swallowed, nodding to himself before closing the curtains to the alcove and moving to kneel in front of her.

 

“Thank you for the party,” she said softly, standing on her good leg as he helped push her jeans over her hips and then wiggled them past the boot on her left leg. “Emma told me it was your idea.”

 

“She did all the work,” he insisted, and guided her legs into the pajama pants.

 

“Not according to her,” she said, leaning on him as he helped pull the pants up her hips, then settling back down on the bed, waiting expectantly. He stood, hesitating for a moment until she caught his hand in hers and pulled him to sit beside her on the bed.

 

“I -- didn’t think you needed help changing shirts,” he said carefully.

 

Of course, she thought. He wouldn’t want to presume they were picking up where they left off, just because they were back together. “I don’t,” she whispered, guiding his fingers to the buttons of her blouse and helping him to work them open. “I just -- wanted you to see.”

 

With trembling hands, he pushed the garment off her shoulders.

 

She’d always trusted him with her body, with the imperfections she’d spent her whole life hiding - these marks of her past mistakes. And so she needed him to see now the two incisions, one near the first and one angled between two ribs, that were still tender and healing.

 

“I know -- I know they’re ugly--” she said, closing her eyes. “I just--”

 

And then she felt it - the soft, familiar sensation of his lips against the tender flesh. “They’re beautiful,” he said, and moved to kiss the other. “Just like the rest of you.”

 

She brought her fingers up to weave through his hair, gazing down at him in awe and love. “David--” she choked.

 

“Let’s get you dressed,” he said as he pulled away and retrieved the oversized flannel shirt.

 

She let him guide her arms through the sleeves of his shirt, then watched in silence as he fastened the buttons, eyes focused on his work.

 

He helped her slide into bed, smiling down at her as she nestled into her pillow. “Do you need anything else?” he asked, and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

 

“No, I think I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

“Okay,” he said, then leaned down to kiss her softly, stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” He kissed her one last time, then moved to leave.

 

She reached out to catch his hand, holding on tight. “David?” she asked in a small voice.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Stay?”

 

“Mary Margaret,” he breathed, entwining his fingers with hers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“You won’t,” she said with certainty. “I just -- I don’t want to be alone.”

 

He hesitated, torn. “Are you sure?”

 

She nodded, and when she spoke, her voice was low and vulnerable. “I don’t want to be without you.”

 

And with that, he needed no further convincing, pulling away only to strip down to his boxers and turn out the lights before sliding into bed beside her, keeping a safe distance from her.

 

“I’m not made of glass, you know,” she teased, reaching for his hand.

 

He pulled her fingers to his lips. “I know,” he said, eyes shining in the dim light from the window. “You’re so much stronger than that.”

 

She smiled at that. “Will you stay tomorrow night too?” she asked through a yawn.

 

“I’ll stay forever if you’ll let me.”

 

So that night, Mary Margaret drifted between sleep and waking, listening to the measured sounds of David’s breathing, wondering if this was the start of her very own happy ending.


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end. Thank you very much to everyone who has been reading! On a side note, I am working on a set of deleted scenes/alternate POVs for this fic, and I am taking requests, so drop me a message if you have any suggestions.

_Two years later._

Mary Margaret had never been a fan of hospitals - at least not playing the role of patient - and at this point, she was fairly certain she’d spent far too much time in them. It had been an accident; it was always an accident that brought her here.

 

Funny to think now that it was accidents and hospitals that had brought not just one, but _two_ of the most important people into her life.

 

She cradled the bundle closer to her chest, still amazed whenever those bright, bright eyes would blink up at her, still feeling her heart swell in her chest when that tiny hand would wrap itself around David’s finger. She looked up at him to find his face still wet with tears, eyes shining with pride and fixed on the infant tucked in her arms.

 

Her daughter. _Their_ daughter.

 

“She’s perfect,” David murmured, eyes still transfixed on their child.

 

“She is,” Mary Margaret agreed, and smiled when he pressed his lips to her temple.

 

He moved to kiss their daughter next, brushing his lips carefully over her downy head. “Hi princess,” he whispered, then kissed her one more time for good measure. “I’m your daddy.”

 

Daddy. That was a good name for him. So was the title of husband, she’d learned. It seemed that despite his baggage - despite _her own_ baggage - David was perfectly suited for any title she chose to give him. It shouldn’t surprise her really, she thought as he gently transferred the bundle of blankets-and-baby from her arms and into his. He’d been her partner in every way, through every obstacle they’d encountered. He’d held her hand through every physical therapy appointment, been waiting as she took those first steps and then folded her in his arms. He’d been her everything - her partner, her support, her husband. Her home. And now he was also the father of her child. Yes, this was the next logical step.

 

“Oh, Mary Margaret,” he breathed, watching as the infant yawned. “She’s so beautiful.”

 

It was the fifth time he’d said as much in as many hours, and yet each time it sent a rush of pure love through her veins. She gazed up at him, watching as he stood and rocked their daughter in his arms, his face alight with all the joy in the world.

 

There was a knock at the door and Mary Margaret looked up to find Emma peeking her head inside. “Hey, _mommy_ ,” she said softly, emphasizing the new title. “You up for a couple visitors?”

 

David turned away, hiding his face as he wiped away the tears with his free hand.

 

Mary Margaret smiled, exhausted but happy for the company. “Of course,” she said, groaning softly as she pushed herself to sit up more. “Come on in.”

 

Emma entered, followed by Graham, who stuck close to her side, a gift bag tucked beneath his arm. “How are you feeling?” she asked, squeezing her friend’s hand.

 

“Amazing,” she beamed. “Tired, but amazing.”

 

Emma offered her a wistful smile. Of course, she’d done all this before.

 

“And someone already has daddy wrapped around her little finger,” Mary Margaret added, looking fondly to where her husband was cradling their daughter.

 

Emma moved to peek over David’s shoulder, grinning. “Can I--?”

 

He seemed reluctant to let her go, but after a brief glance to his wife, he conceded and gently transferred the baby into Emma’s arms.

 

“Hey you,” she cooed. “I’m your Aunt Emma. You have no idea how excited your parents have been to meet you.”

 

Mary Margaret smiled as David slid onto the bed beside her, one arm slipping around her.

 

“They’ve been through a lot,” Emma continued, gently bouncing the infant as her little face scrunched up in the beginnings of a cry. “They almost didn’t make it here, to bring you into the world. So go easy on them, okay? They deserve a break.”

 

Mary Margaret let a small sob of laughter pass her lips, leaning her head against David’s shoulder. She closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush her hair.

 

Graham cleared his throat. “We -- ah -- we brought you something,” he said, clearly a little uncomfortable. He’d always been a compassionate person, but he had never been much of a family man. In the past year, however, things had begun to change. Emma had moved in, and when she did, both of them were forced to lower their walls. Mary Margaret had even spent the afternoon a few weeks back helping Graham choose a ring (and giggling as the jeweler jumped to conclusions at the sight of her prominent bump). He was a loner by nature, but for Emma he was willing to be more than that. He held out the bag. “Well, not for you, but for the baby.”

 

Mary Margaret accepted the bag, and after sifting through a mass of tissue paper, pulled free a mobile of crystal unicorns. The intricate glasswork caught the light spilling in from the window, glittering back at her like the stuff of stories. “Oh my …” she breathed.

 

“I know you hadn’t found one you liked,” said Emma, adjusting the baby in her arms.

 

“I love it,” said Mary Margaret, clutching it to her chest. “Thank you.”

 

Graham finally cracked a sincere smile. “Congratulations,” he said softly, and brushed a kiss to her cheek before clasping David’s hand. “Both of you.”

 

“Thank you,” said David, leaning into his wife once more, and the statement was loaded with Emma’s previous comment. Mary Margaret tilted her head to look at him, and saw the wistful sadness in his eyes. Graham had saved her life once, and consequently their daughter’s.

 

But Graham merely smiled and slipped back to Emma’s side, looking down at the little girl in her arms. It was a fitting sight - that of Emma and Graham with a child between them. Emma was wholly captivated by the little eyes blinking up at her, and Mary Margaret wondered if she saw Henry there instead. Henry, who she’d only held for the briefest of moments before saying goodbye. Even though she had only been a mother for a few hours, Mary Margaret couldn’t even fathom the pain of giving up her daughter, couldn’t imagine a life without her for even a day, let alone ten years.

 

“She looks like you,” Graham commented, pressing his hand to the small of Emma’s back.

 

“Who?” David chuckled.

 

“Both of you,” Graham answered, daring to stroke the baby-soft skin.

 

“I’d hope so,” said Mary Margaret wryly.

 

Emma grinned. “You should hold her.”

 

“I don’t--” Graham began to protest, but soon his arms were full of baby, and he stilled, looking down into the bundle of blankets. “Wow,” he breathed.

 

Emma shot Mary Margaret a knowing smile, and she returned it - a secret smile as small as the budding secret itself.

 

A wave of exhaustion threatened Mary Margaret, and she shifted more fully into David’s arms, one of the crystal unicorns still clutched in her hand. No, she thought, hospitals were certainly not her favorite places to be, but perhaps they weren't all bad.

 

\--

 

Mother and baby both declared healthy, they made their way home. Though it had only been a few days since their little family had grown, they moved seamlessly together - Mary Margaret with their daughter cradled against her chest, David with all the bags slung over his shoulder - as they mounted the stairs to their apartment.

 

Mary Margaret wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked, and pushed it open.

 

Regina smiled at them from the kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes. “You have great timing,” she said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and rushing over.

 

“We try,” Mary Margaret quipped, sighing contentedly as Regina pulled her into a tender hug, the baby pressed snug between them.

 

“How are you feeling?” Regina murmured against her friend’s ear.

 

“Tired,” Mary Margaret admitted. “Sore.” But as she pulled away, the older woman’s hands still braced on her shoulders, she couldn’t help the radiant smile tugging at her lips. “And really, really happy.”

 

Regina squeezed her shoulders. “I’m so glad,” she said. “About being happy. The other parts don’t sound like much fun, but I’ve got a cup of tea and a book ready for you on the couch. You relax while David and I get everything settled.”

 

“But Regina--”

 

“Uh-uh,” Regina chided, using that tone she typically reserved for Henry. “You need your rest.” She moved to take the baby from her, cooing as the child fussed at being taken from her mother. “Shh,” she soothed. “I’ve got you.”

 

Mary Margaret tried to resist, but she trudged over to the couch regardless, letting out a satisfied moan as she sank into the cushions. Eva chirped from within her cage beside the couch, and Mary Margaret smiled faintly. “But there’s so much to do,” she said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. “Laundry. We have no food. There’s probably some dirty dishes that are on their way to molding too.”

 

“All taken care of,” Regina said, settling on the couch beside her.

 

Mary Margaret cracked one eye open to find David wordlessly unloading their bags in their appropriate places. Apparently Regina really meant that David would get everything settled while she held the baby. (Though she couldn’t really blame her friend; were their places swapped she would have done the same.) “What do you mean?” she asked, curling up in the corner so she could face them.

 

Regina adjusted the blankets around the infant. “Well, aside from what you’d taken to the hospital with you, all your laundry is clean, folded and put away. Your dishes are clean. And your fridge is stocked with your basics, a tray of lasagna and a week’s worth of pre-cooked frozen meals. Oh, and I took the liberty of buying a few more packs of diapers, once I saw how tiny she is. She won’t be moving up to the next size for a while yet.”

 

Mary Margaret swallowed over the lump in her throat. “Regina …”

 

“No,” Regina cut her off. “Don’t even try to say ‘thank you’ or that I didn’t need to do anything. I know what it’s like to be a new mom.”

 

She did, of course, and Mary Margaret hadn’t been there to see it. Regina had done it alone. No husband, no family. Just her and Henry against the world. No-one had been there to do her laundry, or wash her dishes. And now, watching as Regina gazed fondly at the infant in her arms, Mary Margaret realized that she would likely never be able to return this favor. Not unless Regina chose to adopt again.

 

Regina was thinking the same, it seemed, as she looked up at her friend with wide, shining eyes.

 

Mary Margaret smiled sadly at her, and changed the subject. “How’s Henry?”

 

“Still sad he couldn’t come see you at the hospital,” Regina replied.

 

Mary Margaret chuckled. “Yeah, I think Whale has finally had it with us bending the rules.”

 

“I told him he could come by when Killian picks him up after school today,” said Regina. “I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Of course,” said Mary Margaret. Officially speaking, there was nothing going on between Regina and the former Navy lieutenant. They were ‘just friends’ Regina would insist, as she switched nights with Emma to accommodate Killian’s schedule; ‘just friends’ she’d say when Killian was already at her house when they all met for dinner. ‘Just friends’ she’d say as their gazes met across the table. ‘Just friends’. “They should be here soon then?”

 

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. David clambered down the stairs from the nursery - which had once been Emma’s room - to answer it, revealing Henry and Killian standing on the other side.

 

“Mr. Nolan!” Henry greeted, and laughed as David wrapped him in a hug, lifting him off the floor, backpack and all.

 

“Good to see you too, Henry.” David groaned as he set the boy back down on his feet, but his face was lined with laughter. “You’re almost too big for that now. And you know you can call me David.”

 

But Henry had other things on his mind, and he was rushing toward Mary Margaret and Regina not a second later, stopping just in front of them as if suddenly nervous. “Hi, Miss Blanchard,” he said, shy.

 

She didn’t bother to correct him, neither for him to call her Mary Margaret nor that it was technically Mrs. Nolan now. “C’mere, Henry,” she smiled, patting the spot between herself and Regina.

 

Henry carefully wedged himself between them, dropping his backpack at his feet. He peered over to the bundle in his mother’s arms, and whispered, “ _Cool_.”

 

Mary Margaret held back a giggle, and glanced up to find her husband and Killian talking quietly in the kitchen - an unlikely friendship if she’d ever seen one.

 

“You were this little once,” said Regina, looking wistfully at her son.

 

“No way,” he replied, then turned to Mary Margaret, suddenly remembering something. “Oh! I have a present for you.”

 

“Is it another one of your famous cards?” Mary Margaret teased, remembering the various cards made of construction paper she’d received over the years.

 

He unzipped his backpack, pushing away some loose papers in the process. “No, this is so much better,” he explained, then pulled free the same book of fairytales she’d had Emma give him years ago.

 

She gasped. “Henry …” she said softly, running her fingers over the gold-embossed script on the cover, spelling out the words ‘Once Upon A Time’. “This book is yours. It was a gift.”

 

“And now I’m giving it back to you,” he replied, setting it on her lap. “As a gift. I don’t need it anymore.”

 

She laughed softly, and opened the book to turn through the old, weathered pages. “You don’t?”

 

He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “They’re really great stories. But I think I want to be a real hero someday. So I’ve got to get started soon.”

 

“A real hero, huh?” she smiled.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Like you, when you saved me. Maybe a firefighter. Or a police officer like Emma and Graham! Or maybe a doctor. I haven’t really decided yet.”

 

When she felt tears stinging her eyes, Mary Margaret inwardly blamed it on the hormones. “That’s wonderful, Henry,” she said, and ran her fingers through his hair before planting a kiss on the crown of his head. It seemed the book had done its job. “I’m very proud of you, you know that?”

 

Henry shrugged her off half-heartedly, a sign that he was already well on his way to being a teenager. “I thought you could read it to the baby.” He peered over into the bundle of blankets once more, now addressing the aforementioned baby. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

 

Mary Margaret grinned. “Would you like to hold her?”

 

Henry’s face lit up with excitement. “Can I?”

 

“Of course,” she replied, nodding for Regina to help him. “Just be careful, okay?”

 

Regina carefully arranged the baby in Henry’s arms, guiding her little head to the crook of his elbow. “She’s so little,” he said, looking down at the infant in awe. “What’s her name?”

 

“Anna,” Mary Margaret replied softly, then met Regina’s eyes over Henry’s head. “Anna Danielle Nolan.”

 

Regina’s smile turned sad at that, as she reached up to ruffle Henry’s hair.

 

“Hi Anna,” he said. “My name is Henry. I’m your cousin.”

 

\--

 

Mary Margaret woke to the sound of rain beating against the window and thunder rumbling in the distance. She blinked at the alarm clock - two in the morning. Time for another feeding, she thought faintly, fighting past the exhaustion as she stumbled to her feet. But the bed was empty and there was the sound of humming and a dim light filtering down from the nursery. She climbed the steps quietly, hissing at the cold floor against her bare feet.

 

Upon reaching the nursery, she smiled to find her husband and daughter curled up in the rocking chair, an empty bottle abandoned on the table beside them. She hugged her arms across her chest and leaned against the nearest beam, watching as David slowly rocked the pair of them back and forth, his humming shifting to uneven singing.

 

“ _... there is no danger, I am here tonight …_ ”

 

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting shadows over their faces - her husband’s and her daughter’s - their eyes fixed on one another as Anna’s tiny hand clung to the tip of his finger. Her whole life, Mary Margaret had wanted it all - kids, marriage, true love - and it took her breath away to realize that she had it in spades. She really did have it all; a real life fairytale complete with heroic quests, a knight in shining armor (or, in her case, plaid flannel), and a little princess with all the hope and promise of the world.

 

The thunder soon followed, and Anna fussed.

 

“Shhh, princess,” David soothed. “We don’t want to wake mommy.”

 

“Too late,” said Mary Margaret gently.

 

David startled and looked up at her, his shocked expression only lasting a moment before fading to a sheepish grin. “I was trying to let you have your rest,” he explained quietly. “She still had a bottle in the fridge, so I thought--”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head and waved him off. “You did great,” she insisted, moving across the room to take the baby from him, settling the child against her chest.

 

“I think the storm’s keeping her up.” He moved over in the chair as his wife settled in beside him, her legs draped across his lap.

 

“Maybe,” she agreed, and nestled against his side as he pulled a blanket around them. “Or,” she said, shifting her attention to the infant in her arms, “maybe daddy doesn’t know about our tradition.”

 

“Tradition?” David teased. “You two already have a tradition without me after only ten days?” He pressed a kiss to her head, smiling into her hair. “Why do I have a feeling this is just the beginning of the two of you conspiring against me for the rest of our lives?”

 

“Maybe because it is,” Mary Margaret quipped with a kiss to his cheek. “Could you hold her for a moment?” she asked, shifting Anna into his arms, before reaching beneath the table, hands searching.

 

“What are you looking for?”

 

She hauled the thick tome up into her lap, fingers trailing over the leather cover. “We’ve been reading,” she explained. “It helps her fall asleep sometimes.” Thumbing through the pages, she couldn’t help but think of all the adventures this book held, the classics that had filled her dreams throughout her childhood. She hoped they’d find their way into Anna’s heart as well, that she’d turn to them in times of need or loneliness the way she had. As a mother, it was suddenly terrifying to think that there would come a day when her child would be unable to turn to her, that the world would wear her little girl down as it had her. But if anything, her daughter would have these stories - a way to deal with this world that didn’t always make sense. If anything, she would never give up on love or hope. Never give up on her dreams.

 

At last, Mary Margaret found the page they’d left off on the night before, featuring an illustration depicting Snow White bashing her prince across the face with a rock. Yes, she thought with a mischievous smile, these were the sort of heroes her daughter would admire.

 

“Maybe daddy can do the voice of Prince Charming,” she grinned, and helped him to shift Anna back into her arms.

 

David slid an arm around her, pulling both of his girls close. “Don’t know if I can live up to the reputation, but I can try.”

 

He could, she thought as she took her turn first and began to read aloud. After all, he was _her_ Prince Charming. “ _As the prince chased the thief on horseback through the treacherous forest …_ ”

 

Mary Margaret Nolan had never been one of the popular girls, had never been the prettiest girl in the room, never been the most outgoing. But tonight - in this moment, and all that would come after - that didn’t matter. Because there were crystal unicorns hanging above the crib, and a tray of half-eaten lasagna in her kitchen; because to the man beside her, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Because there was a little girl lying ever so trustingly in her arms, just waiting for her story to begin.

 

And though a hundred, then a thousand tomorrows may pass, she knew that happily-ever-after was always waiting just over the horizon.

 

Back in the rocking chair, on a rainy autumn night much like one long ago, Mary Margaret sat wrapped in her husband's warm embrace, her daughter's weight anchored in her arms, as she listened to David read - a story of hope, forgiveness and true love.

 

“ _'I told you I would find you,' said the prince_. _'No matter what you do, I will always find you_ _…_ _'_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby David sings is Vienna Teng's 'Lullaby for a Stormy Night'.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and epigraph from Vienna Teng's 'Recessional'. Thanks to Angie for the beta!


End file.
